


New Order

by esama



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Clone Angst, Dark Obi-Wan Kenobi, Gen, Kid Fic, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slavery, clone culture, eventually, kinda sorta, semi graphic birth, slave rebellion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-07 03:13:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12224586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esama/pseuds/esama
Summary: The galaxy changes and Obi-Wan must change with it to protect what little he has left.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed as always,  
> Character Death is Padme Amidala. Also warnings for a semi graphic kinda forced labour scene.

Mustafar is a terrible place. Objectively, literally, and spiritually, it is a _terrible_ place. It's understandably hot and hard to breathe, the atmosphere stays level around 40 t5o fifty degrees Celsius and the air is acrid with constant smoke. How the place has any breathable air at all, with no plants, no life, nothing but the constant churn of magma, Obi-Wan does know, but breathing hurts. It makes his nose feel rubbed raw and his throat ages and makes his lungs pulse with pain with every breath.

Mustafar is an inhospitable, unliveable hell of a planet – but Obi-Wan can't fool himself to thinking that's why he's crying. His eyes sting, the heat and ash and dust got to them never mind whatever gasses swum around in the atmosphere of the damned place, but he it's not enough to make him cry.

"I hate you!" Anakin screams, his voice as raw as Obi-Wan feels. "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!"

Obi-Wan almost laughs, as he stumbles away. It's not the first time Anakin had said it to him, not by a long shot. In the beginning of their time together, Anakin had said it often in fits of temper and tantrums. Whenever Obi-Wan left him to the temple to go on mission alone. Whenever he forbade some stunt or gadget. Whenever he forced Anakin to learn in class, under someone else.

"I hate you," Anakin would mumble sullenly. He didn't always follow the words with, "Qui-Gon would have been a better master," but it was said often enough that Obi-Wan had came to associate the words together.

But back then, Anakin hadn't truly meant. Oh, there'd been times when the dislike had been real, times when annoyance tipped over to anger and Anakin had thought he could really hate Obi-Wan – but he'd been a child and his mood swings had been fierce both ways. He'd always apologized later. Anakin had loved him, then, Obi-Wan had known it, felt it. Anakin had loved him with power than had often terrified Obi-Wan.

_You were my brother, Anakin. You should've been Qui-Gon's student, I know you should have been, it would have been better. But I tried._

_I loved you._

Funny how the first and possibly only time Obi-Wan could force himself to admit it was when Anakin finally meant it when he said he hated Obi-Wan – when it no longer mattered. Another failing of his as Master, another failing as a Jedi.

Obi-Wan draws choked breaths and swallows a sob and leaves Anakin to burn. He can't kill him. He can't save him. It's a terrible cruelty, he knows, to leave Anakin to his fate, but he can't, he can't anymore. He just... _can't_. Anakin's cries follow him over the roar of magma and Obi-Wan thinks maybe he will be hearing them forever now.

 _I hate you_ , spoken like it was the only thing Anakin had left, the only thing he was sure of, like it was the only thing still keeping him alive. And the terrible, all consuming and very real hatred that swelled within him, and destroyed everything good Obi-Wan wished he could still find in him.

Obi-Wan leaves him behind and only once he can no longer feel Anakin's hatred trying to consume him can he draw a breath. He feels like screaming, too, screaming like Anakin is – screaming like the way he hadn't been able to when he'd felt the Jedi die, when he saw the holorecording of Anakin killing the Jedi Younglings, when he saw the recording of Anakin kneeling at his new master's feet.

The Force itself is trembling, holding its breath. There is a terrible dark void in it, millions of small and horrible absences, and death and darkness and – and he can't breathe.

Obi-Wan stumbles and falls to his knees and for a moment he wails like a wounded animal. He keeps trying to reach for his friends, his loved ones, his brothers and sisters, fathers, mothers, his kin and family in the force – and no one is there. Bant Eerin, gone. Garen Mull, gone. Kit Fisto, dead. Ki-Adi, Depa Bilapa, Plo Koon, Yarael Poof, Luminara Unduli, Ayla'secura...

Obi-Wan cries for them and no one answers.

Everything is so dark now. It's like a moment before blacking out, darkness seeping in from the edges of vision – except it is the Force and not mere sight that is being consumed. The Sith Emperor's influence is spreading fast now that the Jedi aren't there to provide small pinpricks of light – whatever he is doing, it is turning the galaxy Dark.

In that darkness, the sudden spark of light is enough to draw Obi-Wan to a stunned halt. Desperate he reaches for it – a Jedi, another Jedi, someone survived? Was it Yoda? No, it was closer, it was right there, it was –

"Padmé," Obi-Wan breathes and stumbles to his feet. With Anakin he had all but forgotten – she's there. And pregnant – with Anakin's children.

It gives him a burst of energy and some strange, flickering hope, and he dashes back to Padmé's sleek ship, back to where he last saw her – and there she is, still lying on the ashen floor of the landing pad, still unconscious. There are droids about her – C-3P0 and R2-D2 are there, fretting over her but unable to help her.

"Move," Obi-Wan gasps and R2 hurriedly backs away, to let him to her. Last he checked, she had a pulse – he can still feel her in the Force but it's so faint and something, something is wrong.

Her pulse is faint and her breathing is difficult and reedy – she can't draw enough air. What Anakin had done to her, using the Force to choke her, it had damaged her throat. That, and the acrid atmosphere of Mustafar were choking the life out of her. She wasn't getting enough oxygen.

Inside her was a child, an innocent child, a _force sensitive_ child so strong Obi-Wan could already feel them. And the baby was in distress, Obi-Wan could feel that too. Padmé's oxygen deprivation was depriving them too. They too were dying.

"Prepare the ship for launch, quickly," Obi-Wan orders even as he squirms his hands under Padmé and hauls her as gently and as quickly as he can up to his arms. She doesn't make a sound – how long has it been, ten minutes, twenty? How long had the battle taken, how long had she been deprived of proper air?

"Y-yes sir, right away," c-3P0 stumbles to say and then he and R2 hurry towards the ship. Obi-Wan still passes them by as he runs as fast as he can to the ship. It's small, but well equipped – when he'd hid there, he'd seen a medical bay, he's sure of it.

It's not really a medical bay. A corner of the small living area of the small cruiser has been rather converted into emergency medical area, now that Obi-Wan really looks for it. There's gurney, all the necessary breathing apparatuses and whole bunch of items and utensils in the drawers. It also has drawers full of baby things – diapers, clothes, wipes, various dry food goods to be dissolved in water...

Padmé, the smart woman she was, had not only equipped her personal ship with everything she might need in case her labour happened somewhere with no medical care, but she had enough things for the baby itself to tide them over even a long space flight. Or, perhaps, exile.

Obi-Wan hooks her up to oxygen as fast as he can and then turns on every medical scanner as he can find. As he tries to figure out how to stabilise her – and the baby – C-3P0's voice comes through the comms. "Master Kenobi, we are ready for launch."

Obi-Wan looks away from the hologram read outs and thinks rapidly. "Get us out of here," he says. There would be empire's troops coming – and if Sidious wasn't aware of his... apprentice's state by now, he wasn't much of a Master. He'd know the moment Anakin died, anyway. Every Force sensitive in the galaxy would know when Anakin Skywalker, their terrible beautiful corrupted Chosen One, would pass.

"And go where, sir?" the droid enquires.

"Anywhere, somewhere," Obi-Wan snaps and then thinks about it. If the Separatists are Sidious' side, and now Republic – Empire – is under his control... what world would be safe? Alderaan?

Obi-Wan looks at Padmé. The Force signature of her child is growing stronger, and brighter with their distress. Like Anakin, the child would be strong. This young... they'd be easy to sense. If he went to Alderaan...

"Take us somewhere where there is _nobody_ there," Obi-Wan says. "Take us to deep space and then drop us out of a hyperlane."

"Sir, is that – safe?" the droid asks nervously, and in the background Obi-Wan can hear R2 beeping in distress.

Probably not. "Do it anyway," Obi-Wan says. "We need to hide. Do it for your mistress, C-3p0."

And Padmé needs to give birth, without the threat of ships coming after them.

Obi-Wan feels the moment the ship takes off. The ship rattles as they escape the gravity well of Mustafar. It doesn't help much – it feels like they brought bit of the world with them, a sense of scorching ruin follows them to the orbit and then out, and to hyperspace when the droids take them away.

Their clothes, Obi-Wan thinks momentarily. The smell clung to their fabric.

Then he pushes the thought aside and turns to Padmé. The oxygen deprivation has ran it's course and even though he's feeding her oxygen, it's too little too late. Her brain has already suffered some damage. And the child...

"Padmé," Obi-Wan whispers and touches her forehead. It's clammy and cold and there's bit of black dust there, where she fell to the floor of the landing pad. "Padmé, I need you to wake up now."

It takes one of the most forceful Force suggestions he's ever used to force her back to awareness. She gasps and let's out a helpless sob of pain. "My baby," she rasps under the oxygen mask.

"The baby is coming," Obi-Wan says. "I'm sorry, Padmé, but you need to work hard now or the baby will die."

"Anakin," she whispers and looks up at him. Her eyes are red and he thinks a little blind. "Obi-Wan where is Anakin?"

Obi-Wan swallows and it makes his throat sting. "He Fell," he whispers. "I couldn't stop it. I'm sorry."

Padmé's breathing hitches painfully and tears trail down her clammy skin and for a moment she struggles not to cry, to say something. "Obi-Wan, my head, my eyes, I can't –"

He strokes her hair for a moment and the pain is unbearable, hers and his and the whole galaxy's. "You need to be strong, Padmé," he says. "For the baby. Do you think you can push? Do you think you can deliver the baby?"

Deliver it, before the damage done by the oxygen deprivation would cause a stroke, or worse.

She makes a face, a terrible pained helpless grimace and shakes her head with another sob. "I-I cant Obi-Wan, I can't," she sobs. "T-there's no contractions, I can't – – I can't, oh god, my baby, I can't –"

"It's okay, it's okay," Obi-Wan says and presses a kiss on her forehead, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. He's never delivered a baby, healing has never been an interest of his beyond mastering the Healing Trance, but...

"Anakin," Padmé sobs and Obi-Wan gives himself into the Force.

The Force is a swirl of terrible chaos around him. It swirls and churns in the void left by the Jedi, trying to fill in the holes, the absences. It's strange now, the bright light it once had extinguished almost to nothing. Dark, Obi-Wan thinks and despairs. The Force itself is becoming darker.

 _Please,_ he thinks to it. _Please let me save this much. Please help me. Please guide my hand._

The Force whirls about him and for a moment he thinks he feels it, that illusive concept, the _Will of the Force_ that he's ever only half believed in. The Force feels like a living thing – be mindful of the Living Force, Padawan – and it feels like it's considering him.

He thinks, he feels, the concept worms it's way into his head, and for a moment all there is in his head is... _BALANCE_. It's like echo of an enormous gong going off somewhere under his conscious will. _BALANCE_ the echo thrums inside him. _BALANCE.... BALANCE..._

Obi-Wan gasps and tries to understand, but it's all too much. It doesn't feel Dark, though. It doesn't feel Light either. It just is. _BALANCE_. For a thought he thinks he can almost grasp the meaning off it, this terrible under current that seems to echo through the whole of the Galaxy, a hint of equilibrium under and over the chaos of the Force – and then –

Then he crashes down to his body and he knows what to do.

"I'm sorry, Padmé," Obi-Wan whispers, even as he reaches to touch her belly. He can feel the life under it, the baby in distress – no, two babies, twins. She's bearing twins. Obi-Wan takes the thought and lets it pass by – and then he starts to strip her.

"Obi-Wan," Padmé gasps, her hand lifting and weakly touching his elbow. "Save them," she says. "You must – save them."

"Yes," he swears, pulling her trousers off, her small clothes following. "Yes."

"And you keep them – safe," she says, a little stronger now. "Keep them – safe."

"Yes," he swears again and lays both hands on her belly. "I will."

He pushes the Force into her, and Padmé gasps at the sensation – and then she screams, as he manipulates her into a contraction.

Even though Obi-Wan doesn't know much about giving birth, he knows that this is a particularly terrible one. Padmé isn't ready for it, her body hasn't yet accumulated to the act, and so she bleeds, she tears and she bleeds, profusely. The pain is enough to keep her awake, but there is little she can do as Obi-Wan literally Forces her to give birth early. But it's necessary.

She is going to die, and she will take the babies with her if they are still inside her.

The first child is a girl. Obi-Wan takes her and lays her on her mother's side and while Padmé sobs, "Leia, Leia, Leia," at the baby's chest, Obi-Wan goes back to work, getting the other baby out as well.

The second child is a boy, and he comes wrong way around, feet first. Obi-Wan squeezes out the last of his energy to get the boy out as fast as he can, as safe as he can, but he still fears the oxygen deprivation got to the child – at least, until the boy is finally out and screaming for air.

"A boy," Obi-Wan says.

"Luke," Padmé weeps. "Luke – Obi-Wan it hurts –"

"I know, I know," Obi-Wan says and checks the babies over. Leia is quiet, tucked against her mother's face – and Luke is wailing. Gently Obi-Wan holds him to his chest and then checks him over with force – and then with the scanner, specifically designed for babies.

If there is something wrong, the scanner doesn't tell him. In Force Luke feels strong, as strong as Anakin even, and deeply distressed.

"Obi-Wan," Padmé calls, trying to reach for him and Obi-Wan goes down to his knees, to show the baby to her, to look at her. Her eyes are searching for him, but can't see him.

"I'm here, Padmé. Your babies are here," He says gently. "They're going to live. They're strong in the Force."

Her expression twists in grief at that. "No," she whispers. "Not them too, don't make them into Jedi too, it ruined Anakin. Please, no."

Obi-Wan stares at her for a moment, and then looks down at the baby on his chest, the other on Padmé's side. Had it? Had it really ruined Anakin, that they made him a Jedi?

"There's good in him, Obi-Wan," Padmé sobs weakly and closes her eyes, sending heavy trails of bitter tears down her now reddened, and still clammy, face. "But you wouldn't let him. Jedi wouldn't let him. It strangled him. He was so desperate. He wanted to – to be good. But you wouldn't let him."

Obi-Wan opens his mouth, but he can't say anything. He can't say anything at all.

"There's good in him," Padmé whispers desperately, her voice weary and bitter.

It's the last thing she says before the difficult breathing starts to ease out, and with one hand feebly reaching for Leia she slips away and into the Force.

Obi-Wan falls to his knees at the side of her body and for a moment he thinks of nothing, he does nothing. Luke is still wailing in his arms, flinging little fists at him and moment later Leia starts to cry too, as they both feel their mother's passing into the Force, and can do nothing about it.

Outside, the hyperspace screams past them – and beyond that the galaxy keeps on changing, the darkness of it churning all around them, terrible and menacing.

Obi-Wan looks at the babies. They're cold and still wet and he still hadn't tended to their umbilical chords, he thinks and stumbles to his feet. It takes some more use of the Force to seal their umbilical chords and Obi-Wan ends up only wiping them clean gently with slightly moistened towel, as trying to wrangle a bath in the little sink of the medical corner seems ludicrous. Thankfully, there is a warm incubation chamber for them, just in case of birth in space.

He settles the two newborns inside, where they whimper and cry for a moment longer, but ease little now that they aren't so cold. Obi-Wan eyes them helplessly for a moment, thanking Force and all the living planets of the universe than Padmé had her ship so well equipped – otherwise they'd be in trouble.

Then he turns to Padmé herself.

She's still warm.

"I am so sorry," Obi-Wan whispers and reaches out to swipe a curl of sweaty hair from her forehead. He leans in and presses a kiss there. "Goodbye, Padmé Amidala and may the Force be with you."


	2. Chapter 2

Padmé Amidala deserves a grander funeral than Obi-Wan has the courage to give. The galaxy's become a hostile place to him, and to the children that is now all that remains of the two greatest people he'd ever known, and he doesn't dare venture outside.

R2-D2 and C-3P0 have piloted them into the middle of nowhere – to a small moon, mined to near destruction at some point in history – it's marked on the star maps as Epson 5B, of the lifeless Epson system, officially part of the Toydarian empire, but the Toydarians haven't had any activity there either in centuries, so…

Obi-Wan risks a landing on the mined out moon, the only stellar object in the system with even a hint of atmosphere. Its dark, has little in way of foliage, but there are some petrified trees there, preserved from rot and ruin by the lack of life forms on the small planet. There are just enough of them where he lands… for a funeral pyre.

Padmé Amidala gets a stranded Jedi's funeral. It's both fitting and terribly undeserving, and watching the flames consume her makes Obi-Wan feel a terrible guilt. Somewhere, her people awaited for their senator, for any news of her, and they'd never get it. Perhaps one day, she would become known as just another victim of the tumultuous end of Clone Wars. Now, she burns and the blaze of her pyre is bright enough to momentarily light up a dead world.

Luke and Leia are crying. They are so strong that even though they are still on a ship, under the watchful eye of the droids, Obi-Wan can feel it. They're wailing into the Force, so bright, so innocent – so vulnerable. Had there been another force sensitive in the system...

Obi-Wan closes his eyes and looks to the pyre, and allows himself another half an hour to not think of anything at all. There's plans to be made and concerns to be dealt with but for now he's too weary, and another one of his friends, a woman who in other circumstances could have been called his sister in law, is gone.

Perhaps Mustafar had burned his tear ducks, because he can't even manage tears anymore.

* * *

 

A message goes out while Obi-Wan is, slowly and carefully and with only mixed success, putting clothes on the babies. R2 rolls into the medical corner of the ship, whirring with excitement, and then plays it in full.

It's a recording of Master Yoda.

"Grandmaster Yoda this is," the recording begins. "Sad news I have. Fallen the Jedi Order has and fallen the Republic has. A dark Empire in their place has risen." He bows his head in the recording and then looks up grimly. "To the surviving Jedi I now speak. To the Temple do not go. To Coruscant do not return. Safe it is not. Trust now in the Force you must for your only ally it might be. Safe you must keep yourself. In time perhaps return we may, but that time... now is not. Trials ahead there are, but the Force with you will be, and with the Force... we might yet have Hope."

The recording flickers and disappears and for a moment Obi-Wan stares where it was. He'd sent out a recording too, very similar to that one, but by now Yoda probably thinks him dead – he hadn't made the rendezvous, and he hadn't tried contact either Senator Organa or Yoda.

It doesn't... feel safe anymore.

R2 peeps at him enquiringly and Obi-Wan shakes his head, turning to look at the children.

Padmé's last words still haunt him, and with the darkness pressing in on all sides, he isn't sure what to do, where to go. If he goes to Yoda and Bail, he'd have help in making those decisions, maybe Yoda might even make them for him but –

 _It strangled him,_ Padmé had said. _He wanted to be good but you wouldn't let him._

Didn't let him, what? Run rampant and do whatever he damn well wished, rather than was _right_? Anakin had always let his heart lead him over his brain, had always followed his emotions, his _passions_ first and his logical sense after. He had never been able to follow orders to save his life and look where it got them – with a Empire of the Sith in control of the galaxy and Anakin fallen to the Dark Side, just because they hadn't let him have his tantrums while there was a war on –

No, Obi-Wan thinks and runs a shaking hand over his face. No, that's General Kenobi speaking, and General Kenobi had fooled the same as everybody.

Oh, Force, how they'd been fooled.

It's starting to dawn on him by terrible bursts, how massive the conspiracy really is. How long had Palpatine worked at it? Ever since he'd been made Chancellor? The Trade Federation and Nute Gunray had always been loyal Separatists, but – _but_ it had been Sidious in control of the Separatist Alliance. And Sidious is Palpatine...

Obi-Wan breathes in and out and tries to centre himself on something than the terrible, horrible realisation. Leia is on the changing table before him, squirming a little and only half clothed. "Sorry, youngling," Obi-Wan murmurs, and winces. Not a youngling. Youngling is a Jedi word. Can't use it anymore. "Child," he murmurs. "Leia."

He gets her fully clothed in soft trousers and little tunic, pulling little socks onto her feet and hat to her head – the space ship is still a little cold, after all. Once clothed she squirms a little more and makes quiet distressed noises, but she's easily worn out and this is already little too much for her.

Obi-Wan lifts her carefully with one palm cupping the back of her head and other around her back, and gently lifts her to join her brother in the heated crib. She, like him, is out within few seconds.

"Master Kenobi," C-3P0 leans in tentatively. "If I may ask – what are we going to do now?"

Obi-Wan looks at the babies for a long silent moment, feeling around their combined Force presence. It is, he knows, the brightest, Lightest thing in the galaxy.

It has to be protected.

"I need to, ah..." Obi-Wan closes his eyes and swallows. "I need to take a moment to meditate. C-3P0, can you watch after the children for me?"

"Certainly, sir," the droid answers uneasily. "But shouldn't we be returning – Master Yoda's message..."

"Yoda must've gone into hiding by now," Obi-Wan says and turns away. "And I won't risk the children in a place as popular as Alderaan – they'll be picked up by any stray Force sensitive the moment they enter the system. I'm afraid there's no where to return to."

R2 beeps quietly and Obi-Wan goes to pat him as he passes by – but his fingers hesitate. R2 was always Anakin's droid. Anakin's attachment to him had been... a little disturbing at times.

"Keep scanning the frequencies, but be discreet," Obi-Wan says and lowers his hand. "So as long we're hidden, we're safe."

"Yes, sir," C-3P0 says quietly, and turns to the children as Obi-Wan exits the little cabin.

He goes to Padmé's personal room on board the skiff. Though the little ship is equipped for 6 humanoid passengers, it had been modified and could carry comfortably only up to four, thanks to the fact that two of the cabins, each of which is designed for two people, had been combined into one master cabin. And there... there is a double bed.

Obi-Wan had known of Anakin's and Padmé's liaisons for years. Anakin had been many things, but never really discreet – but it had hardly been the most pressing concern when there was war, and contrary to popular beliefs Jedi weren't sworn to celibacy. Companionship and closeness was only natural, even necessary part of any sentient species.

It was the attachment, the possessiveness with which Anakin conducted his liaison with Padmé that had been alarming. She hadn't simply been a friend and source of comfort – she had been object of deep, complicated feelings and single minded devotion. To know that they had been married for _years_...

Obi-Wan sits on the side of the double bed and looks around. Anakin has been here, he knows, though he couldn't tell when. Their paths in the war had ended up more convoluted than he'd like, and Padmé had been a serving senator and gifted diplomat – she'd been right in thick of things more than any non-combatant had any right to be. There had been... many run-ins between Anakin and Padmé.

Had Padmé known of the awakening darkness inside Anakin? She'd said he was turning into something she didn't know, going to places she couldn't follow, that suggested she hadn't... but she had never once felt surprised. Just terribly hurt. She'd loved Anakin so terribly much, and he'd broken her heart with his fall.

Same as he'd broken Obi-Wan's.

Obi-Wan stares at blank wall for a long moment, regretting moments and days and years missed. He thinks he could've learned to love Padmé too. They had had much in common, in Anakin, in desperately trying to do right by him, by their own ways.

All the more reason to regret.

"I need to meditate," Obi-Wan murmurs at the emptiness around him.

He gets up instead and looks around the cabin, looking for some clue as to how this all went so terribly. He can see his own failings now – and he doubts them at the same time, uncertain at the wake of Padmé's accusations and Anakin's deep rooted hatred. But what had Padmé known, what had she thought – how had she failed?

Obi-Wan finds no convenient recordings to explain it to him, there are no journals to spy, not even so much as a holo album of their moments together. What he finds is only the necessary – hygiene products, clean sheets, spare clothes…

There are black outer cloaks and tunics in Padmé's closet, made to Anakin's measurements. Obi-Wan trails his fingers over the thick, heavy fabric of synthwool and remembers the talks they had over Anakin's choice of clothing. Generally Padawans' matched their Masters, after all. Anakin never had. It hadn't been forbidden but it had been... noticeable. It hadn't been an insult to him, but... it certainly hadn't been sign of respect, either.

A schism in the philosophies between Master and Padawan, marked by the different colours they wore. They were, almost literally, made of different cloth. Often, people hadn't even realized they were Master and Padawan at all, because Anakin had never looked like he belonged at Obi-Wan's side.

Obi-Wan plucks at the cloth with his fingers and wonders – had it been Palpatine, whispering words of independence and prominence to Anakin's ear, telling him he needed to stand out more?

No, that – that had been before Anakin had begun his visits with Palpatine. Anakin was already wearing black by the time Palpatine had started requesting a Jedi Padawans to aid him on small errands, "in order to promote good faith between the Senate and the Jedi Order". Anakin... had quickly become particular favourite of his.

Slowly Obi-Wan pulls one of the three black cloaks out of the closet, holding it up. It's precisely identical to every other cloak Anakin had ever worn – no embellishment, the material is same any Jedi uses, and the cut is identical to Obi-Wan's own. A Jedi cloak, through and through, only... black.

"I like black," Anakin had admitted to him, one of the many times when Obi-Wan had looked at him censoriously over his clothing choices. "It's comforting. And all the beige just reminds me of Tatooine and all the damn sand."

For a moment Obi-Wan wonders what might've happened, if he had changed to match his apprentice's tastes instead of expecting him to conform to his.

He lets the cloak flutter to the floor and resolutely turns to sit on the master bed – where Padmé and Anakin might've once lain together, who knows – and then, trying to push all his grievances aside, he begins to meditate.

And there is a lot to meditate on.

* * *

 

 _BALANCE_.

It's not really word, or something a conscious mind might've thought up. The deeper Obi-Wan falls into the Force, the stronger he feels it, and no, it's not a thought someone had. It's more like rising above surface of a roaring river and finding the surface mirror smooth and perfectly, _absolutely_ still. Only the sheer immensity of the Force makes it feel so terribly monumental.

The Force has converged and for the first time in his life Obi-Wan looks into it and there is stillness. The Force itself is in balance. It has attained equilibrium. And it is settled into it with ease that smacks of satisfaction – like cogwheels falling into their places in a perfect fit.

Obi-Wan touches on the newly transformed Force and part of him is terrified of it. But he's in deep meditation now, his emotions flowing freely into the Force and the moment passes and there is understanding that cuts under his conscious will.

The Jedi are gone. Sidious had them executed, Anakin slaughtered their most innocent younglings... and now the Force is attaining balance.

Even as Obi-Wan's mind shies away from the realization, part of him embraces it with the desperation of young Padawan knighted all too soon, whose only lifeline had been the words, "He will bring balance to the Force." Qui-Gon had been right. By Force, Qui-Gon had been right the most terrible way imaginable.

As far as Obi-Wan knows for sure there are two Jedi left, him and Yoda. And there is one Sith – two, if Anakin survived in Mustafar. And he must've – because the Force is still now. Two Jedi, Two Sith. _Balance_.

Obi-Wan falls out of meditation slowly, his eyes dry and burning, his stomach twisted to painful knots. He wishes he could deny it, cry against it, _argue_ , because this is not what he's been taught, this is not how it was supposed to go, this is not... this can't be real.

But the Force is in balance for the first time in his existence, and it feels almost alien now, how quiet it is. It feels so dark and strange now and nothing like the ringing brightness of light it was before – but that...

That's only the proof of it, isn't it? The Force had been nothing but Light before. The Jedi had enjoyed the benefits of it, and only now that the Light is faded Obi-Wan sees the setbacks. Already he can see farther, without the unbalanced Light blinding him. The Force feels dark, because he no longer needs to squint to see it. Because now... it's clear.

For a long while Obi-Wan sits there, still and open to the Forces of the Universe, and all the terrible, painful truths they bring.

Then he gets up and goes to check on the twins.

* * *

 

Luke and Leia are of Light side and so as long as Obi-Wan has anything to say about it, they will stay there too. Padmé's words still ring in his head, they probably will until he will die and pass onto the Force himself, but that doesn't mean he can't teach the children the ways of the Light side of the Force. He would have to teach them _something_ , or the dark galaxy would consume them.

But in this dark galaxy, that would only make them stand out more.

"How long can we stay hidden?" Obi-Wan asks, running a hand over his beard. "How much food and power do we have on the yacht?"

C-3P0 and R2 exchange looks. "There is enough power to run the ship half a year with, so as long as space flight is limited. There is enough food for you for one month, Master Kenobi. The children, however," the protocol droid looks to the crib, "will run out of food in two weeks. The ship was equipped with the expectation of only one child, you see."

"Hmm," Obi-Wan hums, carding his fingers slowly through the bristles. "Can we convert some of my food for them?"

"Sir?" C-3P0 asks uncertainly.

"The longer we can stay here, the better," Obi-Wan says and looks up. "Luke and Leia are strong in the Force and it marks them as a target. I need to figure out how to shield their presence. Until I do, going to any inhabited planet is a risk we can't take."

"I see," the droid says, though he obviously doesn't, and R2 beeps rapidly for a moment. "I believe some of the food can be converted to things more suitable for newborns, sir, but – that will leave you with less."

"I can deal with less, but the children can't," Obi-Wan says and looks down at R2-D2. "If you drop me down to one fifth of regular portions, how far can you stretch the food supply for the children?"

There is a moment where the droid beeps and calculates and then whirls his head around to beep the calculation at C-3P0, who listens with golden head tilted and then turns to Obi-Wan. "Three months, sir," he says. "But sir it is really not recommended, portions that small are below the human requirements for optimal function."

"I'll be mostly in meditation," Obi-Wan says and tugs at his tunics. He'd left his cloak on Mustafar, and the ship's slight chill is starting to have an effect. "It will slow my metabolism. Chances are I won't need any food at all for days on end."

"Sir," C-3P0 says, worried.

"Our priority must be the children, keeping them well and healthy," Obi-Wan says firmly and stands up. "R2, are we still safe and hidden?"

R2-D2 beeps for a moment, whistling and whirring.

"R2 says that there is no traffic at all in this sector," C-3P0 translates. "And hasn't been for centuries, since the system was mined out. There is no reason for anyone to come here. But he will keep an eye on all channels, just in case."

"Good," Obi-Wan says and looks at the two. C-3P0 was Padmé's droid; R2-D2 was Anakin's. "You two belong to Luke and Leia now," he says. "Do you understand?"

The droids glance at each other and then their young, infant masters. R2 lets out a sad, long beep. "We will do our utmost to keep the young masters safe," C-3P0 says seriously. "You can count on us, Master Kenobi."

Obi-Wan bows his head a little. In a galaxy turned on his head, after war that he'd fought mainly against droids... the only ones he can count are droids. It feels almost like just rewards, for all the things that had happened.

"Thank you," he says and turns to go.

"Ah, sir," C-3P0 says, looking at him while R2 peeps wildly. "R2 would like to remind you that this skiff is registered to Senator Amidala and bears all the identifying marks as well as transponder signal according to that registration. Should we... change that?"

Force, he hadn't even thought of it. "Yes," Obi-Wan says. "I do believe you're right, and yes, you should. And –" he looks away, out a near by window, from where they can see the wing of the skiff. "Scuff it up a bit if you can. This ship is...too polished and noticeable."

"Right you are, sir," the droid says, nodding his head. "Don't worry, sir, we will make this skiff down right unrecognizable. By the time we're done, you won't even be able to tell it's a J-type star skiff at all."

Obi-Wan smiles fleetingly. "I have every confidence in you," he says, glances at the sleeping twins. "Before you do, see if the crib can be moved into the master suite," he decides. "Where I can keep an eye on them."

"Of course, sir," C-3P0 says. "We'll get to it right away, sir."

* * *

 

While the droids work at disguising the ship, Obi-Wan settles into the master suite to try and start figuring out to how to mask two of the strongest, brightest presences in the force he's left since Anakin was a boy and learned to shield himself. Leia and Luke are too far too young to feel much anything beyond hunger, discomfort and contentedness, but what they feel echoes into the Force bright and loud. When they cry, it's like a siren blasting at full volume.

In the absence of the unbalanced Light blinding his own senses, things seem to carry much farther in the Force. Another terrible, uneasy realization. Without the Jedi, Obi-Wan feels... unhindered in a way he can't really control yet. He feels adrift, currents of unforeseen changes carrying him away from the fog he'd spend his entire life in, and into clearer waters.

It feels almost heretic to feel it, never mind accept it, but there it is – a clarity that he can't yet understand.

Obi-Wan breathes in and out, and after making sure the babies are well asleep and contently clean and dry and fell fed... he lets himself slip into meditation. Not into Force, not yet – though it's hard not to now, with that strange pressure gone. Before he can get on with mastering an ability he isn't sure is even real... he needs to remaster himself.

And accept the understanding he now has.

The Jedi Order had been wrong. He isn't sure about the depth of their failings yet, he isn't sure how far they had reached and how much they had twisted into clouded confusion, but they'd been wrong about the most central, most _fundamental_ concepts of the Force. From that he would need unravel everything he was wrong about and he has a terrible feeling that it might be everything he has ever believed to be the truth.

In Darkness and Light... there is Balance.


	3. Chapter 3

There had been times, when Obi-Wan had doubted his path. There had been many, many times. And like a good Jedi, he had always released his doubts into the Force, trusting that his duties were clear, that his cause was just, that his honour… would carry him true. But there had been moments, dozens of moments, when he had doubted.

When the war begun.

When Clone Troops were discovered, a ready made army loyal to the Jedi and to the Republic, just when they needed one.

When the Jedi became Generals, when their battles and victories earned them trust, when people started calling them great warriors and great commander… instead of great peacekeepers and diplomats.

When he killed a man for the first time, not in defence of innocent lives or even his own life… but simply because the man was his enemy.

Bit by bit his doubts had risen… and they'd been released into the Force. He'd refused to centre on his anxieties, refused to give into his growing agitation and trepidation, that twice accuse _bad feeling_ that seemed to never go away – he refused to let them before fears. Fear, after all… leads to anger.

It had been so clear in the beginning. Separatists started a war, and Republic couldn't possibly take it lying down. It had been so simple, then, to stand in defensive of the Republic. The Separatists had captured Jedi – they had drawn… the first blood.

But then things had gotten more confusing. Not with the war itself, the Separatist made the war simple by putting their most despicable generals in charge of their various fleets and armies, making it easy to find all the just cause to rise against them. All by design, Obi-Wan now assumes, but back then… it had seemed natural. The Separatists were after all… wrong.

But then there were the Clones

So alien at first, this endless field of men, all with same faces, same voices, same mannerisms. A perfectly designed ready made army – the first time Obi-Wan had looked at them, in that facility in Kamino, he… hadn't really seen them as _people_ , much to his shame. They were too much like products.

But then he had a legion under his command. He has his own troopers, his commanders and captains, his _men_ , whom he learned to trust and treasure and whose passing he tried not to mourn and failed. He knew, of course, that they were made to be expendable, and they themselves didn't expect anything different… not a first.

But war made people out of all of them. Flawed, terrible, broken people, all in their own ways striving to survive.

Obi-Wan wasn't the first Jedi general to encourage his Clone Troopers to exercise individualism, in marking their armours, in choosing their own names, with tattoos and hair dyes and whatever other ways they could. He even named dozen or two of them, when they asked it. He'd come to know them as people of their own, as individual persons. And he'd treasured them, as much as he could.

He'd trusted them.

Had they known?

All those times he'd showed his back to Cody, trusted his _life_ and the lives of his fellow Jedi in the hands of the Clone Troopers… had they know? Had they sized them up as targets, contemplating where the shoot, how to make the shot count – how to kill their own Generals…

Cody had been the first to take a shot at him. Obi-Wan knows that much. So long they'd worked together, fought side by side, and… Cody shot him in the back.

The whole design of it, the massive machination behind all of it, is _insidious_. A whole galactic war, engineered and designed. Both of it's sides under control of the same terrible Sith, set at each other just for… for what? What had they been fighting war? For what had they bled and died for, all the Jedi, all the armies, the volunteers and civilians and the collateral casualties, the clones… what had they all died for?

* * *

 

"Master Kenobi," C-3PO says carefully from the door. He's holding a tray with a bottle for the twins, and increasingly small bowl of whatever he could make from the ship's dwindling food supply. "Your evening meal, sir. And you asked me to inform you when we're down to a week's rations – we have now officially reached that point. There is a week's worth of food for the children – less so for you, sir."

Obi-Wan looks up from the twins, who are lying in his lap, one on each knee. Leia is almost asleep, yawning sleepily at hi, while Luke is doing his very best to try and bite Obi-Wan's finger tip off.

"Thank you, C-3PO," Obi-Wan says, and turns his tired, burning eyes back down. "Anything else to report?"

"No, sir – nothing much seems to happen here," the droid says, shuffling into the master bedroom cabin and setting the tray down on the bedside drawer which sits between the double bed and the twins' crib. "There's a small meteor shower going on in the northern side of the planet, but R2 says it won't reach us here."

"Hmm," Obi-Wan answers and smiles a little at the way Luke looks up at him, his little face deadly serious as he chews on his fingers. "You're going to need little more teeth than that to do any damage, little one," he murmurs wearily and tweaks the baby's nose gently. "Good try, however."

"They are precious, aren't they?" C-3PO says, peering down on them. He hesitates for a moment. "Are you alright, sir?"

Obi-Wan straightens his back when he realizes he's softly rocking back and forth. He shakes his head and smiles faintly. "A little tired," Obi-Wan admits.

"Should I put the young masters to bed, sir?"

Obi-Wan glances up and then looks back down. Luke is yawning around his finger and Leia is now officially asleep. "Yes, we might as well," he says and while C-3PO reaches out to take Leia, Obi-Wan lifts Luke up and rocks him a couple of times before getting up from the lotus position on the bed. After the droid has laid the baby girl down, Obi-Wan lays Luke down beside her, and flickers a little Force at him.

Luke giggles and then, with another yawn, curls to his sister.

Obi-Wan and C-3PO eye the children for a moment and once he's sure Luke is falling asleep, Obi-Wan turns.

"Do we have a plan, Master Kenobi?" the droid asks.

"Our plan is to stay hidden and survive," Obi-Wan says and moves away from the crib. He can't quite smother the shiver as he steps out of the bedroom – and into the slightly cooler part of the ship.

It's been nearly three months. Three months on starvation portions that even prolonged periods of meditation hadn't been able to make easier. He'd resorted to healing trances in place of sleep this last month, and still he'd lost all of the little excess weight he had to lose – and great deal of muscle weight on top of it. The ship feels down right _frozen_ with zero natural insulation in between it and himself.

And his eyes still seem to burn, rubbed raw and terribly dry.

"Sir, a question if I may," C-3PO says slowly. "The children's… Force presence. Is it still an issue?"

Obi-Wan hesitates for a bit and then shakes his head. "No," he says, rubbing at his eyes. "With any luck… it's not a problem anymore."

With that said he heads out and down the short little hall that connects all the cabins of the little yacht. C-3PO follows him nervously as Obi-Wan heads for the cockpit, where R2 is hooked into the ship's systems, scanning the channels as per usual. "Anything new, R2?"

The droid beeps a short sequence at him – something he's learned after several repetitions to recognize as _all clear_.

"Good," Obi-Wan says and sits down – not to the pilot's seat, C-3PO is a better pilot for the ship than he is, especially with R2 at his side. "I have plan for us, but first we're going to need to sell the ship."

"Sell the yacht, sir?" C-3PO says, surprised

"I don't have any money, and the children need food, they need new clothes – we're running out all other supplies too. With no funds, the ship will be too expensive to maintain besides," Obi-Wan sighs and looks over. "And… it is far too noticeable. This yacht is very new, isn't it? It even has defensive capabilities."

"This year's model, sir," C-3PO agrees proudly. "Straight from the Theed Palace Space Vessel Engineering Corps, engineered especial for the Royal House – and former Queens – of Naboo. It even has a Sossen-7 sublight engine!"

Obi-Wan nods slowly. He sounds like a commercial. Obi-Wan can very well imagine him, expounding on the ship's best aspects on various social gatherings Padmé had attended. "Very new, then, and for those who know it… recognizable," he says grimly, and runs his fingers over his beard. "All the more reason to get rid of it. I know a number of places where we can get a good price for it, but there are… issues."

Namely with himself, the former famous High General of the Grand Armies of the Galactic Republic. Three months might've been enough for people to call off the main man hunt… but there'd be all too many people who would easily recognize him.

He would need a change of appearance. Change of clothing to begin with. His hair has already grown a little out of its usual cut, and he intends to let it keep on growing for now. He might very well be less recognizable without the beard, but…

Obi-Wan looks up. "R2, give me a map, please?"

The astromech droid beeps out an affirmative and lights up the cockpit with a hologram of the surrounding systems. Obi-Wan considers the nearby planets – the faster they get rid of the yacht the better…

"There," Obi-Wan says, and points at dot labelled Besberra. They weren't far from it. "Have you intercepted any transmissions concerning Besberra?"

Besberra was little more than a planet wide junkyard, where old ships were hauled to be dismantled. It was also where many ship traders came to collect parts and, often, buy ships. It hadn't been a point of interest to anyone during the war, and though officially under Separatist control, seeing as it fell in between several Separatist controlled systems in the Outer Rim, it didn't have enough in way of population, never mind government, to really be _part_ of anything.

R2 beeps and boops in the negative, his head whirring around.

"R2 says that this yacht doesn't have much in way of antenna relay – it's why we don't get the holonet here, sir," C-3PO says. "But as far as Besberra goes, there has been no transmissions R2 has been able to pick up."

Obi-Wan runs a hand over his chin and then nods. "Plot a course – a safe, discreet course. Avoid the hyperlanes, if you can," he says.

R2's head whirs and he peeps in the affirmative, and turns to the ship's consoles.

"Master Kenobi, are we to change ships in Besberra, then?" C-3PO asks.

"I doubt it, people don't go to places like Besberra to buy luxury yachts like this one," Obi-Wan says, looking around the cabin. "But I'll settle for a small junker to get around in a little easier. Do we have any credits on board, C-3PO?"

"Yes, sir – Miss Padmé's travel funds," C-3PO says. "Fifty thousand credits, sir."

Obi-Wan blinks slowly. "And those travel funds are, I imagine… keyed to Padmé's identity."

"Yes, sir, they are," C-3PO admits.

R2 beeps at them.

"R2 says that he can scramble the identity marker from the chip reader, but if someone goes looking from the other end, they will be able to track the transactions back," C-3PO translates. "I don't recommend relying on it, Master Kenobi."

"I think you're right," Obi-Wan agrees. "Well, here's hoping we don't need them. Plot the course, R2, and take off when ready. And, C-3PO? Don't call me Kenobi anymore."

"Sir?" the droid asks. "What would you like to be called instead?"

"I don't know yet," Obi-Wan admits and sighs, standing up. "I'll let you know when I figure out who I am, now."

* * *

 

It's quiet. He's starting to get used to it, how quiet the ship is, how strangely quiet the universe feels.

It's not quiet though. From what little transmissions they'd been able to scan, it's a very chaotic galaxy out there, still in the throes of immense change of power. There are still some people fighting against the Empire. They don't seem to last very for long against the combined might of what used to be the Republic and what used to be the Separatist, judging by the transmissions, but they are fighting. Obi-Wan listened to them at the beginning, keeping up with the events as much as he could but… in the end it got too painful.

It feels as if he ought to be there – but he has no men to lead now, and no cause to fight for. Not, beyond the twins.

The twins are all he has now.

Twins who are growing faster in the Force than he hoped. It might be his attempts of shielding them, his constant presence in their lives, his incessant meditation and the way his own senses seem to be expanding… but the children seem to have innate sense of the Force. As easily as if it was simply another natural sense no more unusual than their hearing and sight, they reach out with the Force – and it answers.

They are _so_ bright in the silence.

"Shh," Obi-Wan murmurs to Leia, who reaches out with Force the same way she reaches out with her hands, trying to get at the bottle Obi-Wan is holding. Gently he spreads out his own Force like cloak on her, and she huffs. It's just his imagination, she's still far too young for such complicated reactions, but she almost sounds put off. "Patience, little one, it needs to set a little.

He shakes the bottle and flickers Force over her, ruffling her thin tuft of hair slightly, and it's enough to distract her until he gets the blend of nutrients properly mixed. Beside them, Luke lies on the bed, blinking up at the string of engine parts Obi-Wan had strung up there to entertain the babies.

He has so little to give them, now. There are no toys on the ship and the nutrient blend they have is ghastly – the babies accept it, but never happily. There is a constant guilt to dealing with the children, especially since… since…

Obi-Wan watches Leia suckle and brushes his fingers through her fine baby hair.

He hadn't meant to fall in love them. Or maybe he did, he's not sure. It had been a duty, a lifeline he had grasped with desperation of a man with nothing else left to lose, but that was all. A duty to a student he failed and the woman that student had loved. Duty to a history now lost, tradition torn asunder, and future that was little more than flickering hope now. Duty, to keep these children _safe_.

That was all. In the beginning, anyway.

Now he thinks he would do anything for these children and it scares him. A desperate duty had turned to more desperate loyalty and now, yes… _love_.

By Force, he loves these children more than he thinks he's ever loved anything else in his whole life. Leia's grumpy faces and the wonder Luke radiates at every brush of the Force, how bright and strong and _wonderful_ they are. They're a terribly painful reminder of all things that are now _gone_ and torn asunder – Luke looks so much like Anakin did as a child that it _hurts_ to look at him.

But Obi-Wan _loves_ them.

Leia rejects the teat of the baby bottle and smacks her lips, smeared with the nutrients. Obi-Wan wipes her clean gently and then lifts her to his shoulder, to ease the air from her stomach through a short little burp, which she smothers against his shoulder.

"There, now," Obi-Wan murmurs. "Is that better?"

She doesn't feel hungry anymore, there's a vague unhappiness at the taste of the nutrients, but she's full. After making sure there's no more air in her belly, Obi-Wan lays her down on the bedspreads and turns to Luke instead. Far more patient of the two, Luke accepts the teat with ease.

Obi-Wan stares down at him and sighs.

He needs to decide what he is to these children. He isn't their master, can't be in this new, transformed galaxy. Not that he really wants to be, anyway, not when he's this close. He isn't their father, though, that's… that's a position belonging to another man, a brighter man. But he must be something. A claim, a familiar claim, must be laid on the children, for their protection if nothing else.

He could claim uncle. He had claimed Anakin for his brother, Padmé nearly for his sister in law, so it would be fitting… but he doesn't like the ring of it. Not that he has ever had an uncle or knows how close one might be to their nieces and nephews, but it… doesn't feel close _enough_. Not for this feeling, this horrible, undeniable feeling that seems to have consumed him now.

"Grandfather," Obi-Wan decides, as Luke stares up at him with trusting blue eyes. "A nice linear claim and one hard to refute. What do you think, Luke? Would you like a Grandfather? I'm not a terribly good one so far, but… I'll do my best. That's all anyone can do, really, isn't it? Their best."

The baby sniffs and snuffles as he drinks and, of course, says nothing. Obi-Wan smiles, stroking a hand over the baby's fine hair and sighs. "I should have treated Anakin as my son," he admits to the baby in a quiet whisper. "That was what he wanted, I think. An authority figure he could rely on for unconditional love. But… I wasn't capable of that. So I treated him as brother. And in some ways… as a rival."

Leia lets out a little noise and kicks her feet against Obi-Wan's thigh, trying to turn around to her belly. The twins aren't strong enough for such manoeuvring quite yet, but by Force she makes good attempt.

Obi-Wan captures her foot to give her something to push against and watches her roll over. She lets out a happy noise – and then realizes that puts her on her belly, not her favourite position to be in, and then she starts making slightly more unhappy noises. Chuckling, Obi-Wan reaches over to turn her back over.

"Bah," she blows at him and then of course tries to turn back to her belly again, the previous result already forgotten.

"Definitely her father's daughter, this one," Obi-Wan comments to Luke, who blows a quiet raspberry against the baby bottle and keeps on feeding.

Obi-Wan chuckles at them and sighs. He's so tired. These last three months have felt like bigger trial than any other he's endured, and he's spent weeks on end enduring worse starvation, and torture on top of it. Horrors of War had not spared him, even if he survived to tell the tall. But still, these last three months…

"Sir," C-3PO's voice comes through the comms. "We're approaching the Besberra system now. It doesn't look like we've tripped any sensors and R2-D2 is certain we can make it to the planet undetected."

"Thank you," Obi-Wan says. "I'll be there in a moment – in the mean while approach cautiously and at any sign of anything more official…"

"R2 says if there are any Empire's ships here, all they will see is our dust," C-3PO says. "We'll be gone quicker than you can wink. Though of course, a droid can't wink so I am not entirely sure how quick that is, but I assume very quick."

Obi-Wan sighs shakes his head. "Just be careful," he says.

"Of course, sir," C-3PO says, and the comm unit goes silent.

Running a hand over his burning eyes, Obi-Wan draws a slow breath. Then he looks down at the children, carefully shielded in the cloud of his own Force presence. They should be well hidden, now. Of course it's not as if he can test it, and he is too close to the heart of their light to know for sure… but his experiments in the Force of late have terrible ring of _truth_ to them.

Funny thing about this new clarity of the Force, this new age of Balance they live in. It's like they've passed over some threshold and not only into uncharted waters, but into a whole new reality. One where things previously unthinkable make terrible sort of sense.

And in this new reality it turns out that with enough practice you can cancel out Light… with Darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm this is developing lot slower than I intended it to. Might have to add more chapters to the estimate.


	4. Chapter 4

As far as their scanners, what few they have on board of Padmé Amidala's luxury yacht, there are no Imperial forces on Besberra – just a lot and lot of junk. Problem is, lot of that junk is radio active and is interfering with the scanners, so if there are troops down on the ground, it's impossible to tell.

There is none on the orbit, though. No ship can really stay safely on orbit, not without quickly depleting their shields in the cloud of junk and trash that has formed several brownish rings in the space around the planet. Remains of ships that had been dismantled on orbit, Obi-Wan muses. It's as good as a mine field.

Obi-Wan eyes the murky brown planet through the cockpit windows and tries to search his feelings for the right course of action. Planets like these don't have much in way of people, but they are popular hot spots for bounty hunters and lowlifes looking to fix their ships or find new, disposable ones to throw at their missions, and if Obi-Wan doesn't have a bounty on him by now, he'd be very surprised. But they need a disguise – he needs a disguise.

The Force around the planet is calm and clear. If nothing else, there are no Force sensitives here.

"There," Obi-Wan points finally. "That smaller hub, take us down there – land us... a little ways from the main settlement."

R2 beeps at him and down they go. Like most planets with little foliage, Besberra doesn't really have much of a weather – the skies are clear on their descent. As they go down, Obi-Wan can both see and sense other ships, coming and going from the planet's surface. Soon he can see it too.

"I have a bad feeling about this," C-3PO says uneasily.

Obi-Wan hums. Strange – he doesn't, anymore. His bad feelings seem to have passed mostly with fall the Republic.

R2 lands them in a small clearing surrounded by mounds of scrap and skeletal remains of decommissioned ships. Obi-Wan takes a moment to feel around the area and then nods – no life forms within good half a click.

"C-3PO, watch over the children," he says and stands. "R2, do you have control of the cannons?"

"R2 says that he only has limited aiming, because you need to be in the gunner's seat to aim properly," C-3PO says.

"Hopefully you won't have to use them for more than scaring scavengers off. Keep the life signs scanner active – and if anything at all comes up, contact me," Obi-Wan says and with a slow exhale turns around. This will be the furthest he's gone away from the children. He could only hope the strange bond he'd created with them would hold.

"I might have to give you the order to depart without me," Obi-Wan says. "And hopefully I can rendezvous with you later, but if I can't... If I'm dead..."

He trails off.

"Sir, I'm sure everything will go alright," C-3PO says anxiously.

"It's a different galaxy and we need to be prepared for the worst. And if the worst comes to pass, take the children... take them to Tatooine." Tatooine is far enough and unpopular enough that the chances for Force sensitives wandering to the planet are very minute. The children might yet be safe there. "There's a family there, the Lars family – they –"

"Master Anakin's mother's family?"

Obi-Wan blinks and turns to C-3PO. "Yes," he says slowly. "If I die, take the children to them."

C-3PO is obviously not very happy with it, but he nods his golden head slowly. "You can count on us, Master K – Master. Sir," he corrects himself and hesitates. "Have you by chance figured out a name, sir?"

Obi-Wan blows a breath. "Not yet," he says.

He'd considered a several, but every time he thought, _this might be my new name_ , Force shifted strangely. It has been years and years since he suffered premonitions, but he knows the feel of the _future_ when he feels it, and none of the names he's considered fit the future ahead of him.

It might very well be he won't have enough of a future to rename himself.

Shaking his head, Obi-Wan leaves the cockpit, heading for the master bedroom instead. Luke and Leia are fast asleep in their heated crib, curled into each other as per usual with Luke's face planted firmly on Leia's stomach. Obi-Wan takes a moment to memories how they look, to touch their hair and kiss their heads before turning away.

He grabs a black cloak from the closet before he goes.

* * *

 

After three months in artificial ship gravity, stepping out onto a planet and into the sphere of its gravity is a little nauseating. Besberra has a slightly higher gravity than human normal, turns out, perhaps one third higher, and it threatens to pull Obi-Wan into a crooked posture. His recent bout of starvation doesn't really help there.

Tucking the hood of Anakin's black cloak up to cover his hair and face, Obi-Wan heads forward resolutely, covering his Jedi tunics carefully under the cloak. The quicker he gets recon done and finds something of use, the better.

Every step away from Luke and Leia is nerve wrecking.

The settlement they landed by is somewhat impressive in its scale. Though life forms there are few and rough in their cloth and attitude, the buildings are all large. Foundries and factories – all full of disassembly lines. They are all surrounded by mounds of trash and scrap and every moment heavy construction droids haul in more and more scrap from the endless junk yards be either disassembled for parts or melted down.

In the centre of the settlement, there is a ship, a small cargo hauler with a mismatched, with number of people around it doing repairs.

Obi-Wan watches them and then looks around for the scrap metal signs, hung about individual buildings. Corporation logos are painted on them, for ship yards, for manufactures, various tech companies...

And then, of course, there is a bar, build inside what looks like a crashed Correllian yacht, with its windows replaced with painted glass, and lot of its hull missing. Neon sign above its open hatch name it the "Besberran Bastard."

Obi-Wan tugs his cloak hood higher, and with his communicator set on vibrate, he heads inside.

It's early in the day for the planet and the bar isn't exactly full. There are a handful of young locals playing cards in a table for what looks like pieces of candy, a group of workers having their lunch, few other people going over data pads and having caffa – but no people drinking, not yet.

Most of them glance at his way, but they don't seem terribly interested. No doubt, place like this gets offworlders all the time.

"What's your poison, stranger?" the rough looking bothan behind the counter asks.

Obi-Wan hesitates but – there is a scent of freshly cooked food in the air, and even though it might consist of local rodents and insects... he's been slowly starving for months now. "Food, to begin with," he says and sets one of the few actual physical credit chips he has on the counter. "If old republic credits will do."

The bothan looks down. "You're going to have to give me five more of those," he says.

Obi-Wan sighs. He suspected as much. He sets the credits down and the bothan nods, taking them and heading back to get him a plate. What's on it is hard to tell, but it smells better than the meagre nutrient mush he'd been eating lately.

"Thank you," Obi-Wan says, accepting the plate. "I'm also looking for a ship to buy, if there's anyone hereabouts who sells them."

"Hmm," the bothan answers, looking him up and down. "Depends entirely on the type of ship you want. Most everyone has a small cargo hauler or two they might be willing to part with if anyone would be interested in buying. You want something fancier, you need to head up to the Wreck up north – they got cruisers and yachts and such up there."

"Hmm," Obi-Wan nods. "Thank you."

He takes his meal to a side table and eats slowly, keeping his senses open and gauging the atmosphere. It's seems – amiable. The fact that there are young ones in the bar playing games is a good sign too – they're all too well dressed to be orphans running wild too. If their parents let them play in the local watering hole...

More people come in – and the atmosphere in the bar changes entirely.

Obi-Wan looks up – and grow still.

 _Clone troopers_ he thinks at first. The armour is so similar – but it's not, at the same time. It's completely white, no markings, no rank insignia, only perfectly polished white plastoid composite. The helmets are slightly bigger, heavier respirator gear – and on the back they have no mount for jet packs.

Obi-Wan reads the tension in the bar, how no one looks at the strange soldiers, turning back to their own activities quickly and silently. It's not fear, exactly, it's something more meaningful. Anxiety and unease and strange sort of broken, betrayed trust.

Silently Obi-Wan lowers his narrowed eyes to the food. So... this is what soldiers of the Empire look like.

"Food, Gentlemen?" the bothan bartender asks, his hairy face expressionless.

"Couple cups of caffa too," the first of the two soldiers says, and Obi-Wan's eyes close and his jaw tightens.

He knows that voice, even though the distortion of the helmet. Clone troopers, after all, just with _shiny_ new armour.

It takes effort to keep from trying to strangle his eating utensils, and even more to keep on eating calmly and steadily. There is no word for the emotion roiling inside him, it's far too complicated. There is no time to examine it now, so he shoves it down, to burn at his gut instead of his head, and he keeps eating.

The clone troopers sit by a table too close to his for comfort and take their helmets off with a sigh. Both of them are clones – first with scar that cuts across his scalp, another with what looks like burn marks on his cheeks. Neither have tattoos, and the scarred one's hair is growing out of crew cut.

They don't talk as they eat, drinking their coffees at nearly mechanical pace between every third bite of the food. Their faces are expressionless, but they look tired.

Obi-Wan can't help but watch them – and he thinks he might _hate_ them.

Had these two killed Jedi? Had they won their place in the new Imperial army by the merit of their murderous actions – their new shiny armours a reward for butchering their old commanders? Had Jedi blood paved their way in this new galaxy?

Yes... it had, even if these two hadn't pulled the trigger themselves, it was mostly clones who killed Jedi. Clones just like these two, with same comfortable hated face and same familiar accursed voice.

With effort he turns his attention to his food and finishes eating. He can't let his personal grievances get best of him – he has the twins to think about. And if there are more clones out here....

He finishes his food as slowly as he can manage it and then stands up to take the plate to the counter. The bothan bartender nods at him. "About that ship of yours – go for the Kklen Astremekna and Repna co.," he says under his breath. "It's just second building to the right of here. They still take Old Republic Credits."

"Thank you," Obi-Wan says quietly and bows his head slightly before turning to leave.

The clones are watching him, but though they glance at each other, they don't say anything.

Obi-Wan leaves feeling their eyes on him.

* * *

 

Kklen Corporation doesn't only take old republic credits, but at the sight of the obviously modified credit chip, their eyes narrow with a sort of vicious delight of people who enjoy sticking it up to the government.

"Yes, yes, Republic Credit is good here," the twilek manager of the Kklen outpost. He's missing one lekku and one leg and, judging by his stiff backed posture, he's served in war. "Might not be anywhere else, but the Republic still matters here, damn it. And don't you dare call it the _old_ Republic neither – it is still _the_ Republic to me."

"That is... heartening to hear," Obi-Wan says with a swallow. It is, too, but it is worrying as well. "But aren't there Imperial soldiers here? Is it... safe to be voicing such sentiments?"

"Those two? Tch," the twilek waves a dismissive hand at the general direction of the bar. "Useless loiters. Not sure if they're here as punishment if they're deserters or what, but they don't do nothing, those two. Just stand about, being about as useful as pile of trash. Less than, since we can't dismantle them for parts."

Obi-Wan's eyes narrow. "It's just those two, here?" he asks slowly.

"More up in Wreck, I hear," the twilek says. "They're sending those idiots out everywhere. The clones, you know. They went all," he makes a circling motion around his temple, "so the Empire don't trust them much, from what I hear."

Obi-Wan runs a hand over his beard, narrowing his eyes a little. "Indeed?" he asks thoughtfully.

"Who cares," the twilek says and takes out a folder of plastoid sheets. "So, what kinda ship you after?"

"Depends on your prices," Obi-Wan says and looks down. There's a chance this is his only opportunity to use the chip reader safely, so he might as well use all of it and get as good a ship as he can get. "What price would you ask... for this one," he motions.

It's a smaller cargo tug of a make and design he doesn't know – judging by the stats, it's nearly five hundred meters in length. He doubts he has the money for it, but it would be a good starting for haggling.

"That one? Hmm," the twilek says, considering him. "Three hundred thousand credits."

Obi-Wan looks up sharply. That's... unusually cheap for a cargo tug, even one small for a tug, even he knows that much. "What's wrong with it?"

"Hull breach," the twilek shrugs. "Got shot during the war one time too many. No pressurization in the cargo compartment. Cockpit is good, though."

Obi-Wan nods slowly. The cargo bay isn't a point of interest to him – he doesn't need it airtight. "Any other tugs with... broken hulls?"

"You thinking of hauling something big?" the twilek asks, leafing through the few sheets of plastoid.

Obi-Wan considers it for a moment and nods slowly. "I need at least fifty by fifty meters of cargo space," he says slowly. "And a big enough hatch to fit a thing that sized in it."

The twilek looks at him sharply. "I see," he says slowly and knowingly and tugs idly at his remaining lekku. "The tug is only one with big enough hatch I think... I got a barge with enough space, but the hatch can only fit twenty by twenty..."

"That won't do and the tug is a little too pricey for me, I'm afraid," Obi-Wan admits.

"Hmm," the twilek hums, eyeballing him thoughtfully. "You got anything to trade?" he asks. "You came here on something, didn't you?"

Obi-Wan smiles grimly and shakes his head. What he came on might be little bit of out of the twilek's price range – a brand new armed and shielded state of the art yacht... it's worth would be near a million, easily. And considering the currency this twilek does business in...

Well, Obi-Wan is looking to get rid of his republic credits, not get more of them.

"I don't suppose you could point me the way of someone who might have what I'm looking for?" Obi-Wan asks.

"Now, now," the twilek says. "I'm sure we can figure something out with the tug. How much have you got?"

"By how much are you willing to lower your price?" Obi-Wan asks with an arched brow.

"How much can you pay?" the twilek asks in turn.

They eye each other for a moment.

Obi-Wan folds his arms a little. "Cargo tug with broken hull," he comments. "Not something anyone would be looking to buy, hm? Not very safe for valuable cargo."

"Safe for spaceships, though," twilek points out. "That's what you're hauling, no? Fifty by fifty meters – that's big enough to most smaller star ships. And smuggling star ships, that's something else, isn't it?"

Obi-Wan's smile tightens a little and the twilek arches his brows meaningfully. Obi-Wan doesn't think the man would give him away to the Empire, the twilek seems like Republic's man through and through, but... it's not worth the risk.

He'd hoped to get through this cleanly but apparently not. Needs must and he _must_ keep low profile.

"I have fifty thousand credits," Obi-Wan says, and waves the chip reader slowly over the twilek's face slowly. "Fifty thousand credits is just enough."

The twilek's face slackens a little. "Fifty thousand credits, yeah, that's just about enough," he agrees and blinks. "That's a lot of republic credits."

"Yes it is," Obi-Wan agrees vaguely, and leans in, holding the Force suggestion alive between them. Now that Force is in play, the faster he gets this transaction over and done with, the better. Even if there are no other Force sensitives in the system... it's not worth the risk of prolonging this. "Shall we do business, then?"

He's one chip reader lighter and one badly damaged cargo tug richer when he steps out of the Kklen Corporation outpost. He's also resorted to two more underhanded Force suggestions – one to get the twilek to not make proper paper work on the cargo tug and other to forget most everything about the whole transaction. The man would remember making a good business deal, but none of it's details. It would be safer that way.

Less than month into his personal fall and already his morals are slipping to the way side.

Sighing, Obi-Wan heads away from the settlement, tugging his hood down. The cargo tug is in the orbit, hidden among the orbital trash rings – it would take some tricky navigating to get to it safely, but he's sure R2-D2 would manage it. Then R2 could head to pilot the tug itself and they could be off again, the luxury yacht safely hidden in the cargo tug's broken cargo bay...

He's being followed.

Obi-Wan doesn't slow his steps, doesn't hesitate, even as he sends his senses out to feel at his pursuit. Two life forms are trailing after him, and he doesn't even need a closer examination to know who they are. They are hugging the trash piles, carefully keeping cover between him and them and he knows those tactics like the back of his hand.

The clone troopers.

Obi-Wan presses his lips tightly together and considers it. There's only two of them in this settlement. He could... yes, he _could_. Part of him would even _enjoy it_. Revenge is not a Jedi way but then he's not a Jedi anymore, is he?

And he does need more up to date information. It only makes sense to get it straight from the source, doesn't it?

Obi-Wan stops and tilts his head to listen.

He can hear their steps now – their boots don't have the soft, sound muffling soles of Clone Trooper armour, and the plastoid clatters as they walk. Definitely not designed for stealth. Even though they try to approach cautiously, their gear works against them.

"You there," a familiar voice calls. "We got some questions for you."

"Do you indeed," Obi-Wan murmurs and feels out the surrounding area in the Force. They're little ways from the settlement now, not as far as he'd like, but... out of sight. With any luck, also out of hearing range – the factories are making a decent amount of noise. If it comes to battle, it might be enough to cover them.

Better not risk it.

"Turn around and lower the hood," one of the troopers commands. "Slowly, and keep your hands where we can see them."

Obi-Wan turns around. They're both holding their weapons.

Can't have that.

Before the troopers can react, Obi-Wan reaches hand out and yanks the blasters out of their hands with Force. The reaction they have to it is instant – and _strange_.

"Jedi," one of them says and then both of them fall _blank_ in the Force. With his senses blown open in the new balance of the Force, Obi-Wan feels their emotions just... drain away as if someone had flicked a switch and turned their minds off.

Then they're running at him, plastoid composite plates clattering against each other as they dash forward, both of them holding their fists up as if they intend to just beat Obi-Wan to death. It's... almost ridiculous.

Obi-Wan holds out his hand and grabs them both with the Force. It flows with discomforting ease now, this more aggressive use of the Force, but he lets the anxiety pass as he hauls them both up few feet into the air and watches them struggle. And struggle they do, writhing in air and trying to claw at it, claw their way to him.

"Kill the Jedi," one of them gasps out, sounding borderline feverish. "Kill the Jedi, kill the Jedi, kill the Jedi –"

Obi-Wan watches them darkly. Part of him, the betrayed hurt part of him, enjoys this viciously. It would be easy now to wrap his Force around their necks and choke the traitorous life out of them, watch their useless struggles wither out into lifeless nothingness. It would do little to quell the sheer loss he is forced to live with, but it would ease it for just a moment, and for that moment it would be _worth it_.

"Kill the Jedi, kill the Jedi, kill the Jedi..."

"How many did you kill?" Obi-Wan asks, his voice low and angry. "How many of my kind did you shoot down? Did you pull the trigger yourself? Hm? Did you _enjoy it_ , killing those who trusted you with their lives? Well, did you?!"

"Kill the Jedi!" the other trooper gasps out as well, joining his fellow clone in chanting for the death of the Jedi and Obi-Wan scoffs at them, disgusted by them. To think he once respected them so much. They're nothing but mindless drones now, proving themselves to be the exact tools people had once seen them as... flesh and blood _droids_.

How had they seemed so human?

Obi-Wan frowns a little. No, that's not the right question, is it? Why don't they feel like human _now_? They still feel blank, like someone had just wiped out their minds and emotions. They don't even feel angry or hateful, just... blank. Even Force suggestion doesn't do that.

They feel brain washed and worse.

"Kill the Jedi," the clones chant and Obi-Wan stares silently for a moment. Then, with a wave of his hand, he tugs their helmets off hard enough to probably give them whiplash, but he doesn't particularly care at this point. Under the helmets their faces are masks of mindless fervour. No emotion in their eyes, just... compliance.

With dawning suspicion, Obi-Wan waves a hand slowly from left to right. "You will be quiet."

Nothing, no effect on their minds whatsoever. The chant of, "Kill the Jedi, kill the Jedi," continues undisturbed.

Clenching his hand into a fist, Obi-Wan yanks then both closer, ignoring their flailing as he crashes both of them down to the ground and forces them on their knees. Keeping them from lifting their hands with the Force, he reaches out a hand and grips one of the trooper's scarred scalp.

"Let's see what you have in your heads," Obi-Wan mutters angrily and while the troopers keep on struggling, he sends his Force into the man's brain.

He's no healer – but the Force flows through everything and his senses in it have been getting sharper over the last few months. All living things produce their own, however minute, field of Force, their very own Force presence. Clones do too, though before it had been so faint in that blinding Light that it had pretty much undetectable. Obi-Wan can detect it now.

And he can sense where it _isn't_.

There's a reason why the Separatists had used droids. You can't Force suggest a machine into compliance – they don't have a Force of their own to manipulate, after all. And for these Clones to be immune to Force suggestion now...

There – an infinitely small portion of their brain where Force does not flow.

"Huh. I see," Obi-Wan murmurs and peers down at the clone's mindless face.

Then, with a slight twist of the Force, he crushes the chip in the clone's head. The effect is instant – the Clone falls silent and slack in his hold, blinking up at him with eyes that go from bleary and confused to _horrified_ in an instant.

"General!" the clone gasps and then just stares in confusion. Then he turns sharply to look at the other clone.

"Kill the Jedi, kill the Jedi," the other clone gasps, still fighting against Obi-Wan's Force hold, trying to push towards him. "Kill the Jedi!"

"Hmm," Obi-Wan answers and then reaches for the still struggling clone, gripping the back of his now sweaty skull and glaring at his blank, mindless eyes. Now that he knows where to look for it, he finds the control chip faster – and then he takes great pleasure in snapping it in half.

The second clone falls silent as well, staring up at him with the same sort of stunned look of horror the other one has as well. Obi-Wan looks down on them, wondering.

Well... it's not as if he needed more proof that the clones had been a creation of Sidious. Everything in the war had been.

"General... Kenobi?" one of them asks uncertainly and frowns, his eyes straying away. "Oh – o-oh. We – we killed the commander, we – we shot him –"

" _Who_ did you kill?" Obi-Wan asks coolly.

"O-our Padawan commander," the clone whispers, eyes widening in horror as he slowly remembers. "We shot him in the back. We shot him in the back! He was just a kid and we killed him, we –" he falls abruptly silent, his face going lax.

"Dany!" the other clone shouts, even as his brother falls to the ground in a clatter of composite plastoid – and doesn't get up. Confused, the still upright clone tries to go to him – but he's still in Obi-Wan's Force hold and can't get up

"And you," Obi-Wan says slowly over his clenched, shaking fist. "Did you kill a Jedi?"

The clone's eyes widen, looking between him, his fist, the fallen clone. "I – I," the second clone struggles to say. "N-no sir, I didn't – I didn't. I was on an outpost, guard duty, no Jedi there when the order came – I didn't kill a Jedi, sir, _I swear I didn't_."

Obi-Wan draws a slow, shaking breath and lowers his hand. The clone gasps as he's released and then quickly rushes to his brother's side, to check his pulse. His shoulders slump with relief when he finds it, and Obi-Wan runs a shaking hand over his face. He got so close, and it would have been _so easy..._

It would have been easier to kill the clone, but no. He's not that far gone, not yet.

"I'm going to have to erase your memories," Obi-Wan says, struggling to attain some level of self control. "I can't have you remember me."

"Sir – please," the clone says, quickly getting up and reaching for him, this time not to attack, but to implore. "Don't – don't make us go back there. Please! Whatever you did they'll undo it and we'll go back to – to being that. And I can't, I'll rather die than become that again."

Obi-Wan struggles for a moment to try and calm down, and failing. "And if you're not _that_ , then what are you?" he asks harshly.

The clone shakes his head. "My name is Marks, General," he says helplessly. "And whatever I am, I am not the Empire's _slave_. And neither is Dany."

"He killed a Jedi," Obi-Wan growls in fury and points a finger at the downed clone. "A Jedi _Padawan_."

"Not by choice, sir. Never by choice," Marks swears desperately.

Still shaking slightly with barely contained anger, Obi-Wan breathes in slowly and exhales even slower. None of the breathing exercises seem to work right now, damn it all. "Strip," he says through clenched teeth. "If your armour has recording devices, destroy them."

"Sir – there are other clones here," Marks says hurriedly. "In Wreck, sir, there's a squadron – none of us are here by choice. If we get them, if you did what you did to us to them and free them too –"

Obi-Wan grimaces at him. " _Then what_?" he asks through clenched teeth. "I am not looking to save every damn clone in the galaxy."

"T-then... they'll be free," Marks says, helpless, his hands falling listless at his side. "General, please... I can't forsake my brothers."

Obi-Wan almost snaps at him that he can then damn well go save them himself, but... of course Marks couldn't do what he just did. This isn't what he had in mind though, this isn't going according to his plan – he meant to lay low, not... not do this, whatever this is.

And yet some small part of him that for years trusted and relied on men very much like this one, who learned to respect and honour and even love some of them, _begs_ him to try. He has other priorities, yes, he has the twins and he must keep the twins safe, and if he starts going about _relieving_ the empire's troops of its control it would inevitably draw notice...

But all anyone can do is their best. And if he doesn't even try now, well, that wouldn't be his best… would it?

Running a trembling hand over his face, Obi-Wan struggles between the two desires – to lay low and to do _something_. Decisions like these were easier, when he was still firmly rooted on the light side. Emotions didn't have such a hold on him then.

"Damn it," he murmurs and looks down angrily. "How many clones are there?"

The look Marks gives him is full of such blatant gratitude that it makes Obi-Wan feel vaguely sick.


	5. Chapter 5

In total there are nine clones on Besberra, the whole of the Papa Squad of the 3rd platoon of the 8th company of the 311th Battalion of the Grand Army – or what used to be the Grand Army anyway. According to Marks, things had changed for the clone armies of the Republic in the wake of the Empire's rise.

"I remember – there was time, just bit after the Order came, when they turned the chips off," the clone explains to Obi-Wan while he watches with close eye how he destroys both his and Dany's armours recording devices. "I guess that's why they turned 'em back on and left 'em on, because lot of us lost it when we got our free will back. Or what free will we had. Thousands just... shot themselves when they realized what happened."

"When the chip was active, you couldn't remember?" Obi-Wan asks with a scowl.

"I – sort of did, sir, but it didn't... it didn't matter as much," Marks admits and looks down at the shiny new armour clone troopers wear. He makes a face. "It was an order and good soldiers follow orders. We knew, but I don't think I could really feel anything about it. That thing in our heads, it made it so that it was just... another mission."

His shoulders slump for a moment and then he sets the recording devices, carefully turned off and dismantled, to the side. Obi-Wan looks down at them and crushes them with a clenched fist. Marks winces a little, but doesn't say anything.

"Anyway, I think they sent a lot of squads and even companies like ours away from the Inner Core and even the Mid Rim," Marks continues. "I wasn't part of the Papa squad before – I was originally from Romeo Squad, but my squad mates got gunned down on skirmish in Dantooine way back, so I was part of the irregulars for a long while. They rehashed the Companies after – after the Republic became the Empire, and I was put into the Papa squad, to fill in for another clone. He was... one of the guys who shot himself, after Order 66."

Obi-Wan breathes in and out. "Companies like yours?" he asks. "What do you mean _companies like yours_?"

Marks looks up. "The Papa Squad killed the Company Commander," he says. "Even with the chips active... they were a desertion risk at the very least."

And you don't put potential desertion risks in charge of anything actually important, Obi-Wan muses. Better to push them aside to patrol unimportant Outer Rim planets, rather than somewhere someone might see them lose it.

"Do you know how many Jedi died?" Obi-Wan asks. He's regained some calm now, but it's a cold, strangled sort of calm that he knows will shatter against just as easily as it did before. It's so easy to get angry now. It's easy to _like_ the feeling of being angry, too, which is by far worse.

"According to the propaganda – all of them," Marks says and looks at the helmet. "But there were always whispers of sightings here and there, companies being diverted to certain locations to take care of local... uprisings. Officially they're all dead, but unofficially..."

The clone looks up at him, his expression uncertain. "Do you know of others who survived, General?"

Obi-Wan thinks moment of Yoda, the only other he knows of and then looks away. "Do you have a ship here?" he asks instead.

"Just a couple of speeders," Marks admits with a shake of his head. "I don't think desertion risks like us would even be given space ships, but I don't know what they have in Wreck."

"Fine," Obi-Wan says and looks down at the still unconscious Dany. Who had, if not taking the shot himself, at least been one of the clones shooting at Jedi. Force, but he wants to leave the guy here.

"Pick your brother up," Obi-Wan says and turns. "I have a ship near by."

"Yes, sir," Marks says and rams the clunky looking new helmet on his head, before hoisting his brother up and to his shoulders in rescue carry. He has no trouble keeping up with Obi-Wan past the trash piles.

They're both silent on the way to the ship, where Marks stops for a moment to stare at the somewhat roughed up luxury yacht. He doesn't say anything, though, keeping his comments to himself while Obi-Wan opens the hatch and heads inside.

"C-3PO, we have guests – stay where you are," Obi-Wan calls even as he reaches out with the Force to slide the master bedroom door shut. The twins are asleep inside, and he'd rather keep them out of sight for as long as he can.

"Er, yes, sir," C-3PO's muffled voice comes from the room and with a nod Obi-Wan locks the door as well.

Then he turns to Marks. "Take him there," he motions to the other remaining crew cabin and Marks nods, hauling unconscious Dany in and, judging sound of the clatter of plastoid, drops him down on one of the bunks. Moment later, the clone appears on the short hallway.

"General," the clone says and stands in attention.

Obi-Wan gives him a look. "Don't call me that," he says, irritable and weary and already too exhausted with all of this. "I'm not your or anyone's General anymore. Come here," he says and motions towards the cockpit.

R2 beeps and whirs at him questioningly. "All clear. We have a change of plans, though," Obi-Wan says, resting a hand on top of the astromech's droids. "R2, give me a map of the planet. Marks," he says to the clone. "Point out Wreck for me?"

"It's this one, over here," Marks says, pointing out a slightly larger settlement on the holographic map R2 provided for them. "I wouldn't recommend taking this ship there though, er, sir. Lot of smuggles come in and this ship..." he looks around and blinks. "This ship looks valuable."

"We'll land it as far away from the settlement as we can," Obi-Wan says and runs a hand over his chin, tugging slightly at the bristles of his beard. It's getting longer – he hasn't trimmed it in months. "Do you think you can get your squad out of Wreck? I don't like the idea of setting a foot in the place myself."

Marks considers it, eyeing the holographic map. "Maybe, but probably not at one go. Might be safer not to, so as long as those things are active they will try to shoot you," he says slowly.

Obi-Wan nods and sits down on the co-pilot's seat. He looks wreck over. "What's your rank?" he asks and eyes the armour. "And how do you tell? I can't see any insignia."

"I'm just a trooper, sir, and that's the point, I think. We can see insignia on our helmet hud," Marks says and takes the helmet off. "But the idea is that outwardly we all look identical. I think it's so that no one can specifically target commanders."

"Hm," Obi-Wan answers, not sure how he likes it. The armour looks brand new – and not just brand new, but like someone had kept on polishing it. It so _shiny_ it actually reflects. It goes against everything he knows about clone trooper's habits concerning armour maintenance. For them, scratches and scuff marks had been a badge of honour, a proof of service. This armour looks like its never seen combat at all. Is it so that that the new Imperial Army would be easier to underestimate?

"R2, let's get going," he says and turns to the astromech droid. "Fly as low as you can, try and keep out of sight. Once there, find us another discreet spot to land in."

He looks up at Marks. "I want this done and over with as fast as possible," he says grimly. "I am not staying planet side longer than I have to."

"Yes, Gene – sir, thank you sir," Marks says and very nearly salutes.

"How long, R2?" Obi-Wan asks, and the droid brings up a counter. "Hm. Your brother will probably wake up before we land," he says. "I suggest you go stay by his side."

"Yes, sir," Marks says, and takes that for the dismissal it is. Obi-Wan follows him in the Force until he's sure the man's gone to the crew cabin and then he stands up again.

"Stay low," he instructs R2 again, and then heads to the master bedroom.

* * *

 

Obi-Wan feels the moment the other clone trooper wakes up. The Force rings with his panic and misery and even though Obi-Wan can hear Marks try and talk his brother down, it's only making it worse, sending the other clone trooper into a spiral of horror and depression which grows deeper every passing second.

Obi-Wan stands for it only for as long as it starts affecting the twins in their sleep, making Luke whimper and Leia clutch on her brother tighter.

"Watch over them," Obi-Wan tells C-3PO and heads out of the master bedroom, closing and locking the door after him. Then he marches to the crew cabin.

Dany is sobbing out shameless, wretched tears. Marks has thrown both their guns on the floor as far as they could go in the small cabin, Obi-Wan almost steps on them... so Dany had probably tried to go for them.

"Trooper," Obi-Wan says sharply, and Dany looks up, his back straightening, his eyes searching. He looks bleary and confused so Obi-Wan lowers his black hood and waits until the man recognizes him and he does, too. All clone troopers had been _made_ to memorize the faces of the High Generals, after all.

"S-sir, General," Dany struggles against the hold Marks has on his shoulders. "Sir, please – I've, we've committed a crime, my squad, we – I will submit to any disciplinary action – any punishment –"

"Trooper," Obi-Wan snaps and he shuts up, and by _Force_ just looking at him twists Obi-Wan's stomach. But he's had time to think about it now and as much as he _hates_ that this man was one of so many who had killed Jedi – "Stand down," Obi-Wan orders and steps closer.

Dany looks up at him desperately while Marks moves aside a little – still keeping one hand on Dany's shoulder plate though, just in case. Obi-Wan glances at him and then looks at Dany.

"What you and your squad did," Obi-Wan says firmly, "wasn't _your_ doing. Do you understand me?"

"B-but I held the gun, I took the shot –"

"No, you didn't," Obi-Wan snaps severely. "Someone holding your leash did. Or did you want to kill your commander?"

"No!" Dany wails. "No, I didn't, _I didn't_ , he was just a kid, he was such a good kid too, he worked so hard at being a good commander – I couldn't have –"

"Then you didn't," Obi-Wan says, irritated at the wash of _despair_ coming from the man. "It wasn't _you_ , trooper. You were just a tool for it. And with a chip in your brain controlling your actions, there was nothing you could have done. You, trooper, have done _no wrong_."

It's too late.

The wail of the twins waking up to the roiling emotions is already sounding through the ship, making both of the teary eyed clone troopers look up and Obi-Wan grit his teeth. "Damn it," he mutters and then turns to Dany. "It wasn't you, trooper. Concentrate on that. What happened happened without your choice. It wasn't _you_."

It's not enough, he knows, the misery is still heavy in the air, but the shock of being talked down has eased it a little. Shaking his head Obi-Wan turns to leave. "Now your control yourself. Your emotions are disturbing the children and I won't stand for it."

"S-sir?" Dany asks, but Obi-Wan is already leaving, heading back to the master bedroom.

Leia is flailing in the crib, knocking her fists against Luke who is wailing too loud to even care. C-3PO flails helplessly over them and is almost knocked aside by obi-Wan who quickly goes to pick the babies up, swaddling them in his own Force presence, blocking the troopers' emotions out.

"Shh, shh, it's alright, we're all right," Obi-Wan murmurs, cradling them to his arm and sitting down on the bed to cuddle them properly. "I know, I know, those were some painful emotions, but it's alright, you're alright."

They keep on wailing at his chest, their young minds unable to understand the horror and misery thrown at them, only understanding that it was bad and they didn't like it. Obi-Wan cradles them in his arms, swaddled in his cloak and Force both, until Luke starts wearing himself out and even Leia quiets down to helpless, irritable little hiccups.

When Obi-Wan looks up, he's not particularly surprised to find the two clone troopers standing by the door – or in Dany's case, on his knees by the door.

"Y-younglings?" Dany asks in a whisper, and now there is horrified _hope_ radiating from him. "But heard the Temple was –"

Obi-Wan shoots him a glare. "Control your emotions," he orders. "They are sensitive to them. And you've disturbed them enough."

He looks down at the babies and then sighs. At least one of them needs a diaper change, probably both – that tends to be how it goes with the twins. "C-3PO, spread out the table for me," he says and stands up, kissing Leia's warm, sweaty hair as he does.

"Yes, sir, right away," the droid answers and turns to the corner of the room, to spread out the somewhat awkward baby care table they'd set up there. While the clones watch in silent fascination, Obi-Wan goes through the motions of changing the babies into clean diapers.

Leia, still irritable, keeps kicking at him, almost squirming off the table entire.

"Come now, little one, behave for Grandfather," Obi-Wan murmurs to her and captures her foot, pressing a gentle kiss on the sole. "You'll be happier when you're clean and dry and fully clothed again.

"Bah," she answers and kicks at his nose.

"General," one of the clone troopers says, in faint voice full of strange sort of wonder.

"Don't call me that," Obi-Wan says, still in the soft voice he uses for the twins. "I'm no one's general."

* * *

 

Dany has managed to find some sort of equilibrium between his raging emotions and his duties and Marks has settled into a strange sort of anticipatory watchfulness. Something about both of them has _changed_ at the sight of the twins, and the sheer hope they radiate now is... an uneasy feeling for Obi-Wan. He lets them have it, though. It's better than the horror from before anyway.

R2 lands the ship in another valley in mounds of scrap metal, and while Obi-Wan stays behind, the clones adjust their armours and fix their expressions and then they head out, new vigour in their steps.

"Sir," C-3PO asks while Obi-Wan lays the twins down for a bit of play time on the bedspreads. "Are you certain this is... wise?"

"No," Obi-Wan admits. He's teetering on the edge of fury and panic over this whole damn thing and he really should know better than – than indulge this rescue mission. It's too big of a risk for the twins, especially now that the clones know of the children's existence and have terribly mixed feelings about them.

But at the same time, he doesn't think he could _not_ do this either.

Sighing Obi-Wan runs a hand over his face, down to his chin to clasp over his mouth. He feels a little nauseous – the food from before, perhaps, or most likely all the damn emotions. He's still so angry but more than that, there's a dawning, horrible _grief_ that keeps trying to well up inside him. The clones...

By, Force, the clones...

He hates them so much. And he feels so sorry for them it is almost a physical pain.

"It's not wise," he says against his hand and lowers it. "But it is the right thing to do."

It's too little too late, though. It'll make no difference at all on the grand scheme of things. He will release these nine clones of their mind control and they will be horrified and grateful for it – and in the mean while hundreds of thousands of others will still remain under the Empire's chains. This small act of kindness is, in those terms... is it really kindness at all?

He'd once thought that freedom and truth was worth everything but all that pain and misery they felt...

Obi-Wan breathes in and out and looks at the twins. "All you can do is your best," he sighs. He's just not sure what is for the _best_ anymore.

* * *

 

Marks and Dany bring him two other clone troopers, apparently having lured them in by reporting a strangely wealthy looking ship in the junkyards and asking them to help them investigate. Obi-Wan feels them approach and then he feels the scuffle between the clones as Marks and Dany attack their brothers, relieving them of their weapons.

"What are you doing?!" their brothers snap at them as Obi-Wan steps out of the ship. "What is this? You traitors!" And then they spot him and stare for a moment, their faces hidden behind helmets. It's easy to tell when the first one realizes who he is, because, "Jedi. Must kill the Jedi," comes out distorted through the helmet a moment later.

Before he can do anything about it, though, Obi-Wan reaches out a hand and freezes him and his still chipped brother in the Force, stilling them in their places – and then dropping them on their knees. While Marks and Dany watch uneasily Obi-Wan steps down the ramp.

"Take off their helmets," Obi-Wan says over the chant of _kill the Jedi_.

"Sir," Marks says and quickly does as ordered, divesting both of the mind controlled clones of their helmets. Under, the first has a tattoo that runs down the side of his face, and the other has a scar that cuts over his lips and gives him a vicious looking snarl. "Sige," Marks motions at the tattooed clone. "And Hearth."

"CC-5050 and CT-7742," Dany says.

"Right," Obi-Wan says and then reaches to grip Sige's head. The clone struggles against his hold, tries to actually head butt him, but he ignores it and peers at the clone's face, at his brain.

There. Twist of the Force, and the clone goes silent and slack, falling to sit on his folded legs. Leaving him to his realization of free will, Obi-Wan turns to Hearth and then grips his head as well, searching out the chip in his brain and snapping it in half.

The unfathomable horror comes a moment later – and the explanations are no easier the second time around.

* * *

 

With four clones relieved of their mind control, getting the rest five takes only couple more hours, and at the end of it there are full squad of nine stricken clones left to deal with – who even with Marks and Dany murmuring guidance and advice to them can't quite contain their emotions.

Though everyone in the original Papa Squad has taken shots at their Padawan Commander and done their level best to kill the young Jedi, none those still alive had actually managed to hit the target. The one who had... had taken the first opportunity eat his own gun barrel when the Order 66 had ran it's course and the Empire had done the mistake of releasing the clones of it's control.

His name, Obi-Wan learns, was Drike and aside from Marks they'd all seen both his successful murder of their Jedi commander... and the following suicide.

The shared horror between them is terrible and overwhelming and almost enough to make Obi-Wan just leave them where they are, in their horrible realization of the state of the galaxy, their brothers, themselves and their past deeds. It would be infinitely easier to just forget all about them.

But he can't.

"What will we do now?" one of the clones, man missing couple of his front teeth named Gap, asks helplessly. "General... we can't go back."

And that's the gist of it, isn't it. "Don't call me a general," Obi-Wan says wearily, running a hand over his face. All the clones are looking at him, expecting him to come with answers, expecting him to tell them what to do. Expecting him to save them. And damn it...

"I'm not a Jedi anymore," Obi-Wan says and looks at them. "There is no Grand Army of the Republic anymore and I'm not your general."

The looks they give are full of mingled misery and heartbreak and _loss_. They look at him and then each other, and it's painfully obvious that they have no idea what to do. Like all clones, these too are bred and designed to follow command structure. Only very few especially individualistic clones could even function without one.

Obi-Wan has other priorities now. And travelling around with a bunch of clones would just make them stand out more. He needs to think of the twins. Twins who have hard time handling the clones' emotional outbursts as it is.

"Sir," Marks says. "We can be useful. We can help." he casts a look at the yacht and makes a face. "Please. Don't just leave us here."

Obi-Wan looks at him grimly. "I don't have the capacity to host nine clones," he says darkly. "There isn't space."

Not in the yacht anyway.

He looks over the nine clones as they look down, as their shoulder slump in the all too shiny armour. They look so wrong, so damn helpless – the best soldiers Clone Wars had produced, and they look like lost children.

Obi-Wan runs a hand over his face and sighs.

"Gene – Kenobi, sir," Marks says again, imploringly.

"Don't call me that either, it's too dangerous," Obi-Wan mutters and pinches the bridge of his nose. Damn it. "Do you know anything about handling a cargo tug?"

* * *

 

The tug is in worse shape than Obi-Wan had expected. The cargo hull is completely shot open, with a gaping hole running half around the whole ship. It's certainly a big enough hole to pilot Amidala's yacht through, if nothing else, but he'd still hoped the thing would be in slightly better shape – in shape to be repaired at least.

"You own a ship wreck, sir?" Sige asks dubiously while leaning over the console and watching the wreck of a tug hover over Besberra's brownish atmosphere.

"I hate to break it to you, but I am little short on funds," Obi-Wan grumbles. "The state of the ship wasn't that important – so as long as it was big enough to hide the yacht, I was happy. R2, can you connect to the ship yet?"

The droid peeps at him and then lights up the cockpit with a holographic map of the cargo tug.

"Show me where the ship has viable pressurization?"

The tug is badly preached but, like the twilek seller had promised, the cockpit and crew compartments are fine. There is a small mess hall and passenger quarters on the tug as well – it is rather large as ships go – but most of them are without air.

"Sir," a clone named Bolt, a combat engineer, says leaning in. "If the tug has any sealant supplies, I think we can fix most of the living areas – I would have to go and have a closer look, but some of those breaches don't look too bad."

"The cargo hull would take a whole ship yard to fix, though," Sige says and folds his arms. "It's a wonder this thing hasn't been turned into scrap metal yet."

"It still has functional hyperdrive, that's more valuable than scrap," Obi-Wan says and runs a hand over his beard. "Can these new armours of yours handle vacuum?"

"To a point," Marks admits. "They're not designed for space walks."

"Should be enough for us to get from the yacht into the tug, sir," Sige says determinedly.

"I want someone to go in and do recon on the ship, see what we can do with it," Obi-Wan says and sighs. Amidala's yacht had only one space suit – though the crib where the children slept in did have an air shield to use if need be, it wasn't made for space walks either. So he wasn't going anywhere, yet. "Any volunteers?"

"Sir!" comes from every other man in the now crowded cockpit, and few more from the equally crowded hall. They can't quite step forward to actually physically volunteer, there's not enough space, but they definitely would if they could.

Obi-Wan looks at them, at their determined, earnest faces. It still twists something in his soul to work with them again, but at the same time...

This feels a little like coming home.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lot of slavery in this chapter

"So, what are we supposed to call him?"

"He doesn't seem to mind _sir_. So far anyway."

"Yeah, but he's – you _know_. It's _him_. We gotta call him _something_."

Obi-Wan glances up from Luke's face, tilting his head a little. He's not sure if it's just voices carrying inside the tug, which is far from designed for sound proofing, or if it's his new sharpness in using the Force that is enhancing his hearing, but almost sounds like the clones are right next to him, rather than several bulkheads away.

He'd secured the captain's cabin for himself, seeing as they were the biggest and best equipped on board the ship – big enough for him, C-3PO and the twins. Most everything that could be stripped off Amidala's yacht had been transported into the captain's cabin, including all the medical device and scanners and great deal of small mechanics. The twin's crib is there too, of course, and there's newly made care corner for him to tend to the twins at, courtesy of Bolt who'd installed himself.

The bed from Amidala's yacht had been switched over to the tug as well –

The twins seem to like it, so far. The smells of the tug are little different and the hallways and rooms are all bigger and echo strangely, but after first few hours of confusion they had settled inside.

The clones... had fallen into the duties of repair and ship management with very orderly ease, like well trained soldiers should.

It's still strange to have them around. Obi-Wan is getting used to it, but it's strange. It makes him feel like General Kenobi again. Problem is, General Kenobi is dead. General Kenobi was killed right alongside General Skywalker.

Sighing, Obi-Wan looks down at Luke again. The boy is almost done feeding – and there was only few more days worth of food for the children left.

"It's about time, hm?" Obi-Wan asks the boy. "Time for Grandfather to start taking some bigger risks."

"Brlr," Luke answers around the teat and makes faces at him.

Obi-Wan smiles a little and then looks up as there's a knock on the door. A clone, of course – Bolt, judging by the feel of him. Obi-Wan reaches out a hand and opens the heavy door with Force, pushing it into the frame to let the clone enter.

"Sir," Bolt says, standing in attention. "I have finished inspecting the hyperdrive and everything seems to be in order. I'm going to be keeping an eye on it, but for now all systems look normal."

"Good – and, at ease," Obi-Wan says, nodding and then turning his eyes back to Luke. "And hull? Can it take jump into hyper space?"

"With a slow start it should be able to handle it," Bolt says with a nod, relaxing only minutely. "The ship doesn't have much anything in way of defensive capabilities, though. The shield is non-existence and won't protect it from inertia, never mind something worse... and the turrets are all out of order. I wouldn't call this ship battle worthy."

"Hopefully we won't have to take it into battle," Obi-Wan says. "As soon as you're sure we're ready, we'll be setting off. R2 have our coordinates, just leave piloting to him."

"Sir," Bolt agrees, though with some unease now. "Um, might we know where we're going?"

Obi-Wan hesitates for a moment. "We're going to sell the yacht, and hopefully get a decent price for it. But that yacht has some ties to things I'd rather not be known for, so, we can't exactly sell it to respectable buyers. To that end... we're going to Tatooine."

* * *

 

All his plans need a little adjusting now that there are clones involved. The most ideal situation would be to find a place where he could just... leave them to live out their lives in whatever fashion they wanted to now that they're free. Having any clones around, never mind a full squad, is noticeable. And they're all still wearing Imperial armour. Stormtrooper armour, because apparently that's what they're all called now. Stormtroopers.

He doubts he can just drop them on some peaceful planet and leave it at that, though. Not while there was any semblance of a fight to be fought and now that the horror of their station was settling in, anger was seeping in. And what _anger_ it was.

"Can't sleep, sir?" one of the clones – man named Joaquin – asks, spotting Obi-Wan slowly pacing down the corridor of the cargo tug at late – or early, depending on how you looked at it – hour.

"Someone can't," Obi-Wan agrees and turns a little so that the clone can see Leia in his arms, wringing her hands irritably against the cloth of Obi-Wan's cloak.

Like all clones, this one too get that weird look in his eyes when he spots the child. A sort of terrible understanding and devotion that goes beyond rank and file, which Obi-Wan hasn't yet been able to quantify.

"That's the female one?"

"Mm-hmm," Obi-Wan agrees, looking the clone over and feeling him out in the Force until he's sure there are no ill intentions here, just confusion and determination and terrible realisation, and then relaxing minutely. Nothing new there. "She's not yet used to the ship's noises."

"Neither am I, to be honest," the clone says. "Mind if I walk with you, sir?"

"Feel free," Obi-Wan says, and for a while they pace down the corridor slowly, Obi-Wan rocking his torso slightly to try and lull Leia to sleep.

"We've never been more than slaves, have we?" Joaquin asks abruptly after a moment of silent walking. "We never had any choice."

"...no, I don't think you did," Obi-Wan agrees slowly, not looking at him. Joaquin has a tattoo on the side of his shaved scalp – when seen from the side, it looks disturbingly like the Jedi Order's ancient symbol.

The clone squeezes his hands into fists and then relaxes them. "I guess... I guess we all knew," he says. "I mean, we're all grown to order, moulded to be the same, fitted with armour the moment we're big enough, you don't... go through that and end up thinking you have much of a choice. But we always thought we still had our free will. No choice, but still, our minds were our own. The only things that were fully our own..."

Obi-Wan shakes his head and can't really think of what to say to that. The existence of clones has never been _moral_. The Republic – and through them, the Jedi Order – had found justifications to using them, and in encouraging all possible individuality they thought to free themselves of guilt of using them... but they still did, and no, it was never justified.

The clone army had always been a custom order group of slaves – and they'd all known it. They'd all came with a price tag. What kindness they were given by the Republic all stemmed from that price tag. Medical care, free time, carious leisurely pleasures, all given because it was cheaper to give a living clone healthy and happy than it was to grow and train a new one to replace him when he broke down.

One of the many things Obi-Wan had always resolutely not thought of was... what happens to the clones after the Clone Wars? Of course, his dreams of the future had never included the empire and the clone's continued deployment in it's ranks, but if republic had remained when the war ended and things had been returned to normal rather than reshaped into something terrible and new... what would the Republic have done with the clones?

Set them free after all the money had gone into them?

Unlikely.

"Sir?" Joaquin asks, looking up at him. "What happens to us now?"

"That's the thing about being free," Obi-Wan says, looking down at Leia. There's anger and frustration coming off the clone, but regardless the baby is finally starting to fall asleep. "What follows is entirely up to you, now."

Joaquin doesn't seem satisfied with the answer and looks away, frowning. "It's not, though, is it? For as long as the Empire is out there... we can't really do much at all, can we sir?"

Obi-Wan hums darkly in answer. "Well if you want to be flat out honest about it..." he mutters and shakes his head. "You do what you can, trooper. You do the best you can. That's all anyone can do."

"That's not much though," Joaquin says.

Obi-Wan doesn't answer, looking at Leia. She's sleepily chewing on his tunic, on the verge of falling asleep now. "It's better than nothing," Obi-Wan says and kisses the baby's forehead.

The clone eyes him for a moment, then he looks at Leia and his expression shifts into complicated sort of understanding. "Are you really their Grandfather, sir?"

"Not by blood," Obi-Wan says grimly and looks at him. "What little family I've ever had has been torn apart, trooper. I'm going to claim what I can from the shredded remains. That's the best _I_ can do, and it might not be much in galactic scheme of things. But it's still something."

Joaquin looks at him and Obi-Wan thinks he understands perfectly.

* * *

 

Its little ways from Besberra to Tatooine and the ship has precisely nothing in ways of extra stores. The clones all resolutely go without food the entire trip, and they handle it with very soldierly ease, having been genetically engineered to survive with less if need be. Obi-Wan does the same and what little there is, is given to the children.

It's still a very uneasy trip through the space, made worse by the short jumps R2 takes them through. They're still avoiding the hyperlanes, and outside the lanes there is always a very real possibility of running into something that you can't just fly through, so the astromech jumps the longest safe distances, adjusts course, and jumps another safe distance until the next stop. It makes the way to Tatooine seem even longer.

"Once we make it there, I want most of you to stay on board the ship," Obi-Wan tells the clones. "Until we all get new clothes, we're all far too noticeable – but I have two extra cloaks for two of you use, but even then you will have to go without armour under them. And I want whoever comes with me to wear a face mask of some kind."

"Sounds reasonable, sir," Sige says, running a hand over his head.

"How are you going to get on land, though?" Bolt asks with a frown. "There is no way we can take the tug down, it'll break apart on descent."

Damn, he'd really hoped he could take the tug down on the planet, actually. "Do you think it has any chance of surviving the descent at all?" Obi-Wan asks, running a hand over his beard.

"Not if you want to get it off the ground again," Bolt says seriously. "These sorts of ships weren't even designed for planet side landings, sir. It probably would've cracked like an egg even before the hull was breached. Now... there's pretty good chance it will just shatter apart in atmosphere."

Obi-Wan hums. That complicated things, and Tatooine doesn't have any handy space stations for them to go to. It is still the safest close by place to sell the yacht though – even the dingiest of space stations tended to keep records. In Hutt space... no one keeps records of anything except bets and debts. "Then we will leave it on orbit, and go down on the yacht," he says with a frown. "And let's hope we can buy a worse looking skiff to get up again."

"You're relying on a lot of luck, sir," Gap says grimly.

Obi-Wan concedes that point with a nod and sighs. He doesn't like it either – but this place feels... right, somehow. The Force is not telling him _not_ to go there, and considering how things had gone in Besberra, he has some reason to trust his feelings here.

"It has held out for me until now," Obi-Wan says and stands up. "Choose who's to go and who's to stay. Lets try and make this quick."

"Sir," they answer in unison and he leaves them to deliberate on it, heading to check on the twins.

They are both awake, playing on the bedspreads with... a doll that had definitely not been there before.

Arching an eyebrow, Obi-Wan sits beside Luke, idly ruffling his hair before looking the little doll over. It's obviously hand made and not very complicated in design – a vague humanoid shape of white cloth with some lumpy stuffing inside it, sown rather badly. The cloth is old, probably old bedspreads from the tug... but the stitches look new. No wear and tear on them, though they've knotted here and there where the yarn used – individual strands from the cloth itself – had broken.

"Who brought this in?" Obi-Wan asks with a frown, glancing at the protocol droid – who was supposed to keep _anyone_ other than him from getting anywhere near the kids when he wasn't there.

"Er, I did, sir," C-3PO admits. "One of the clones gave it to me. Said he found it in a locker somewhere, he thought the children might like it."

Obi-Wan looks at him and then at the doll. As far as toys go, it is the ugliest he's ever seen – it doesn't even have a face, just blank white head. Still... even he can see the care that had gone into making of it.

"Well, that was... very lucky of them," Obi-Wan murmurs and smiles a little, before holding the doll above the babies, shaking it a little for their entertainment. "Very lucky little doll indeed, wouldn't you say, to have children to play with now."

* * *

 

They fall out of hyperspace over Tatooine at fairly early in the ship time – and somewhere late in the evening, Tatoonie time. The planet is almost completely in shadow under them, the twin suns on the other side of its vast, rust brown expanse, and unlike with most planets, Tatooine has no large sprawling cities to light the night side.

The clones have chosen their shifts. Joaquin and Sige go with Obi-Wan, dressed only in their black body gloves, the cloaks Anakin Skywalker had once worn, and gas masks from the ship which are just about good enough to cover their faces. Everyone else stays on board the tug, though they aren't very happy about it.

"Try and keep in contact," Hearth tells Joaquin and Sige. "And keep watch over –" he motions at Obi-Wan.

"I'm quite well equipped to taking care of myself, thank you," Obi-Wan says faintly.

Hearth – the squad medic – gives him a look and then looks at Joaquin and Sige. "And try getting some food in him."

"Yes sir," Joaquin says with a badly hidden smile.

Obi-Wan sighs and shakes his head at them before turning to Bolt and R2-D2. "Keep out of sight and if you're spotted and someone shows interest in you, jump out," he tells seriously. "Keeping this ship – and _what's on it_ – safe is more important than waiting for us – we can manage ourselves on the planet."

"But we can't manage ourselves in combat, we know, sir," Bolt says. "We'll keep the ship clear."

R2 beeps and whirs in agreement.

"Good," Obi-Wan says and casts a glance towards the crew quarters, where the captain's cabin – and the twins inside it – sit. "I don't think I need to tell you what will happen if something so much as touches those children," he says grimly.

"Sir, I think we all would rather die than let that happen," Dany says firmly.

Obi-Wan breathes in and then out. "Good," he says and turns to Joaquin and Sige. "Ready to go? Let's get to it, then. The quicker we get this done, the quicker we get out."

* * *

 

Flying with the yacht after the slow, lumbering pace of the cargo tug is like a dream – the skiff goes down to Tatooine's surface with graceful, sweet ease that makes Obi-Wan, just for a moment, regret that they have to sell the thing. They need the money, yes, but... compared to the cargo tug, it's such a pleasure to fly it.

Even when it's not actually him flying it.

"There," he says, pointing at map they have of the planet's surface. "That settlement – go close but... not too close."

"Yes sir," Sige answers and takes them down.

"Do you know this planet well, sir?" Joaquin asks.

"Mostly by second hand," Obi-Wan admits. "Wretched hive of scum and villainy from what I've heard about it, but right now it's safer for us than the alternatives. Ships pass hands here like on good space ports – better, because here nobody keeps records."

"I hope you're right," Joaquin says darkly, as they touch down on Tatooine's sandy dunes. "Things have changed since the Empire."

Obi-Wan hums in grim agreement. "Yes they have," he agrees. "One of you stay here and guard the ship – the other is with me."

Sige is the one who stays, with cloaked Obi-Wan and Joaquin heading towards the settlement. Like all places on Tatooine – from what Obi-Wan has heard anyway – the buildings are mostly sandstone with domed roofs and little in way of windows. On a place like Tatooine, where sunlight got deadly around mid noon, no one saw much of a reason to intentionally let it into their houses, after all.

No one pays any attention to them as they enter the settlement – and it's no wonder. The settlement – a city, really – is crowded with people from seemingly all walks of life, and judging by the general hullabaloo, there seems to be a festival of some sort going on.

A racing event, like the one that took place when Anakin was found, Obi-Wan wonders even as he tugs his hood lower and peers at people from its shadow. There's some sort of gathering in the centre of the town, judging by the direction most people are going, and with a nod to Joaquin Obi-Wan heads that way as well. Might as well try and fit into the crowd.

It is a festival – and worse. There are stands pitched in the town's sandy square, with people selling rather suspicious looking food goods and various trinkets – one rodian seller is peddling what looks like weapons from the clone wars. At one stall, there is even half a dozen of battle droids, with behavioural inhibitors imbedded in their plates. But the main sale event isn't anything as innocent as mere weapons of old wars.

It's a slave auction.

Even as they approach the main crowd, they can see a stage at the other end and there, a twilek male showing off a completely naked togruta girl to the crowd, making her spin and dance.

For a moment Obi-Wan heart clenches painfully with fear and fury – but no, of course it's not Ahsoka.

"Sir, look, over there," Joaquin says under his breath, and his voice shakes with fury.

Obi-Wan looks – and then releases a muttered curse.

There is a group of clones by the stage – not storm troopers, though, they have no armour. They're dressed in old, ragged body gloves from the old clone trooper armour – still have Republic insignia and everything – and their heads have all been shaved, badly judging by the little scars and newer nicks on their scalps.

They're all in chains and going by the bruises and cuts of their wrists, they have been for a long while now.

"How – how could they, how _dare_ they –" Joaquin snarls and stops when Obi-Wan puts a hand on his elbow.

"Don't make a scene," Obi-Wan says quietly, digging his fingertips into a nerve point and making Joaquin wince sharply.

Obi-Wan looks at the chained clones and then around them, feeling the crowd out with the force. They didn't come here to free clones, definitely not ones in the more literal chains of actual damn _slave_ _trade_. Part of him wants to leave it, part of him knows he _should_ leave it, they don't have the money to get involved and they have a ship to sell... but.

"Damn it," Obi-Wan mutters and tugs at Joaquin. "Keep your head down and follow me. Let's go check them out."

"Sir," Joaquin says and bows his head down.

Wading through the crowd isn't too hard and no one seems to mind them stepping forward to inspect the chained clones. The clones themselves say nothing about it, standing there in various stages of parade rest and _despair_. Some of them still have energy enough to glare at the crowd of prospective buyers, but most at staring listlessly at mid space, saying or doing nothing.

Every single one of them has a particular scar on their scalps, just behind their ears. A circular hole of a surgical incision.

It makes sense. Chipped, the clones would always be someone else's slaves first, than their owner's here. Running a hand over his chin, Obi-Wan narrows his eyes. So, others have discovered the chips too, and the knowledge of them is far spread enough to have reached this remote, filthy corner of the galaxy too. Good to know.

Though, of course slavers would figure out the existence of the chips on the Empire's slaves – they chip their slaves too, and though they haven't quite managed to figure out the way to control the minds of their slaves... they've figured out a fairly effective alternative.

Alternative with which these clones would have had to be equipped as well, wouldn't they? There is no way they would be controllable otherwise, no way they would just sit there, defeated and unresisting otherwise.

Stealing them away, sadly, isn't going to be an option even if he got the opportunity to try it.

"Yes, yes?" a human man approaches them, rubbing his hands. "Interested in the clones are you, yes? Yes, yes, you are. Can't find a better patch than this, and going cheap, yes, going cheap now."

Obi-Wan glances at him, at his eyes – pupils dilated, probably high on spice – and then looks at the enslaved clones. "How much?" he asks.

"Five thousand, yes?" the human slaver asks and nods. "Yes, five thousand, good price, yes."

The _rage_ radiating from Joaquin is almost comforting at Obi-Wan's side.

"Five thousand for, hm, fourteen clones, yes it is indeed a very good price," Obi-Wan says coolly as he counts heads.

The slaver blinks and then shakes his head. "No no – yes, good price, but no no. Five thousand each," he says quickly. "Each, yes, each."

"No, I think you said," Obi-Wan waves his fingers idly in the sleeves of his cloak. "Five thousand for _all_."

The slaver blinks again, even more rapidly. "Five thousand for all, yes," he says and swallows. "Mistake, yes, terrible, terrible mistake, but – I am man of my word, yes..." he twiddles with his sleeves, looking troubled and conflicted. "Clones are bad slaves," he then tries. "Yes, yes, always resisting, never do their work well, they're trouble, yes. You will be wanting pure human slaves, yes?"

"No I think I want _these_ _ones_ ," Obi-Wan says, still holding the Force suggestion. "Take them off the auction and hold them for me. I will be back for them later."

"... yes, yes," the slaver says with some struggle. "I will take them off the auction and hold them for you, yes."

Obi-Wan waits and watches as the clones are prodded and poked – and in one case, whipped – into movement, drawn away from the main auction. Immediately other slavers push their merchandise towards the stage to fill in the gap left behind and with disgust Obi-Wan turns away.

"Keep an eye on them, see that no one leaves with them," he says to Joaquin, who is taking very measured breaths. "I'm going to go find someone to sell our ship to and, once I hopefully have the money... then I'll be back. Alright?"

"Yes, sir," Joaquin says slowly, shakily, and bows his head. "Thank you, sir."

"Thank me once we have them," Obi-Wan says and squeezes his wrist – and then he stops.

On the other edge of the crowd, he can see a flash of white, by now somewhat familiar. Shiny, perfectly polished plastoid composite plates and helmets vaguely reminiscent to the clone trooper helmets, all but glowing in the dim light of the evening.

Stormtroopers.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for more of the same, but worse.

Obi-Wan hasn't been as aware of the effects of long malnourishment, constant stress and sleep deprivation as he is at that moment. Everything happens... so fast.

One moment he is looking over the crowd at the flash of white plastoid helmets, trying to see how many there are, what they are doing, what their intentions might be – trying to glimpse guns, body language, threatening movements. And seemingly within the next _blink_ people are screaming and there is blaster fire in the air.

The stormtroopers are shooting in the air.

"Sir," Joaquin says, grabbing Obi-Wan by the elbow. "This way, hurry –"

"Halt!" one of the stormtroopers calls, voice artificially enhanced by whatever speakers he has in his armour. "In the name of the Galactic Empire, nobody move! I said HALT!"

Nobody halts – it goes from surprise into perfect mass panic inside split of a second. People scramble every which direction like someone had thrown a bomb in their midst, kicking up sandy dust as they go. And that's before some smart guy with a gun decides to take a shot at the stormtroopers. It happens as if on stretched, slow moving time – a red bolt of energy racing towards the storm troopers and missing all of them by a foot and half, and then – then the stormtroopers are aiming at the crowd.

"Halt!" the stormtroopers call again, voices amplified a hundred fold now, and just like that, they start taking shots at the crowd.

What are they trying to accomplish? Obi-Wan stares at them like in a dream – there's about dozen of them, fully armoured and armed and shiny, and they just walk into what was a crowd of easily over thousand _lowlifes_ and they – they expected an orderly surrender? He's not sure he's ever seen anything so utterly ridiculous in his life – it's so beyond any reasonable tactic that he can't even begin to comprehend what they are thinking.

"Sir," Joaquin hisses at him and Obi-Wan almost stumbles as he's drawn back.

"What is _wrong_ with them?" Obi-Wan asks. He knows those voices, there are clone troopers under those helmets, but – no clone trooper worthy of being given a _gun_ would do something as....as ludicrous as this, surely? He's not even sure if the stormtroopers are trying to hit the people shooting at them – they're only vaguely aiming at their attackers and their shots... their shots are hitting fleeing civilians more than the assailants.

Joaquin pushes him behind a nearby sandstone wall and takes out his own hand blaster and covering for Obi-Wan who finds himself feeling oddly dizzy. When was the last time he had a proper meal? Or any food for that matter?

The area in front of the slave auction has cleared now, with only the few fighters with blasters staying behind – and corpses. The local fighters are taking cover where ever they can, using upturned tables and near by structures to hide behind from the rather wildly aimed incoming blasts. On the stage the twilek man has pushed the slaves off the stage and those slavers who hadn't ran for cover are hurriedly dragging their resisting merchandise away.

"Halt," the stormtroopers call out, over their own gun fire, like that's supposed to actually do anything!

Obi-Wan shakes his head, clearing it as much as he can. He can't be weak now, and his confusion doesn't matter, he thinks, and with a slow breath reaches for the Force. Then he peers over the sandstone wall Joaquin had hidden him behind.

Twelve stormtroopers, like he thought. They all look the same, they all _feel_ the same, and they all have the same weapons – the same DC-15S blaster rifles that republic had ordered in the hundreds of thousands to equip the clone troops with. Apparently while getting their soldiers spiffy new armour, they hadn't yet replaced their weaponry.

"Sir – the clones," Joaquin says, his eyes trained on the stormtroopers – who, from what Obi-Wan can see, aren't really even trying to take cover or anything. There's about five very angry ruffians from various species firing blasters at them and they _aren't taking cover_.

"Are they really clones?" Obi-Wan asks, oddly insulted by all of this. It's all such _nonsense_. Who engages in combat like this?

"Not them – the others," Joaquin says urgently and nods his head.

There, the spiced up human slaver is dragging the enslaved clones away, electrified whip in hand to lash at the stragglers – of which there are many. The bruised, abused clone slaves are digging their heels into the sandy ground and they're casting longing looks towards the ridiculous shoot out taking place in the square, like they long to take a part in it.

Or just get in middle of it.

Obi-Wan narrows his eyes. "The slaver will have controller for their chips," he says. "We need that first."

"But – they had scars," Joaquin says. "They don't have chips, right?"

"Not those – slave chips are different," Obi-Wan says and peers over the wall at the stormtroopers again. "In places like Tatooine slaves are chipped with micro explosives, triggered by proximity alarms – or by push of a button. It's how they're kept in order and it's why I wanted to buy them, and not just bust in and free them."

"Halt," another stormtrooper call is shouted over the increasing blaster fire. "Galactic Empire has outlawed slavery within Galactic Empire's influence; this gathering is unlawful. Lay down your weapons and prepare to be processed."

Obi-Wan winces, as one of the lowlifes taking shots at the Empire's shiny soldiers gets in a headshot, sending the stormtrooper's helmet flying off. Under it there's a clone's face, bleeding and expressionless as he falls backwards, dead.

His death echoes in the force and it's sudden and almost painless – it feels like a release.

"Go after the slaves," Obi-Wan says to Joaquin. "I'll – handle this."

Joaquin looks at him and then nods firmly. He crouches low and then hurries off, hugging the walls of the sandstone buildings and keeping out of the hot zone, while Obi-Wan turns to face it.

Eleven stormtroopers now, some of them already injured. Five various lowlifes. Seventeen blasters in play in total, one of them now discarded on the ground by it's dead wielder.

This is utterly stupid, Obi-Wan thinks, and then concentrates. The Force here rings with violence and greed and misery, like the lifestyle of the people here had seeped into the very fabric of the universe and stained it. But it's still clear. Even here, the Force has attained balance.

Obi-Wan reaches out, feeling at every blaster as they fire, feeling the emotions of their users, their mind space. The local lowlifes are furious and excited and angry and thrilled – any chance to take shots at empire, right? The clones are... utterly blank.

His fingers scratching at the sandstone wall, Obi-Wan presses in with his will – and starts disabling blasters at hundred paces and more. He has little trouble with the stormtroopers – he knows those guns well, has used them, even learned to dismantle and maintain them along the war. The other blasters are harder – most of them he doesn't know and at least one of them has been heavily customized.

One by one the blaster shots peter out as he figures out of to disable them. The stormtroopers halt – ironic – and try shaking their guns to get them to work, while the lowlifes with their guns dismantled eye them, check them – and then throw them away in favour of vibroblades and knifes.

Obi-Wan senses the scuffle already happening elsewhere and looks up. Joaquin has made contact with the slaver and has him down, is searching for the controller – and the other clones are joining in.

Good, Obi-Wan thinks and turns to look at the combatants here.

There are at least eight people dead here, possibly more. He doesn't feel any particular sympathy for most of them – people who attend to slave auctions aren't exactly the best type of people, after all. The stormtroopers, though...

It's obvious their chips are active. And not active in that terrible automated sense that made them lose their minds when they see a Jedi – no, someone had ordered them to do this. Someone had sent them to do this. Why? Just get themselves killed doing it? Or to sow a seed of unknown terror into the minds of the people here, who from now on would never know when stormtroopers would bust in on their previously safe gatherings and start taking shots at the crowd.

Even he knows how well that will work, here, on Tatooine. Horror was a local sport here, from what he's heard of the place.

Still, it's no wonder the stormtrooper's plan was nonsensical and their aim was shoddy. Their brains literally aren't working properly.

"Halt," they still keep calling. "In the name of the galactic republic – "

There's a sound of blaster firing – and flash of sudden, unexpected betrayal and pain that cuts closer than any other injury here so far. Obi-Wan hesitates, touching his stomach – nothing there, it wasn't he who was shot.

Joaquin.

Joaquin is falling to the ground, staring up at the clone slave who's holding his gun, who's just fired into his stomach, and who is now wrestling the slave chip controller from his hands. The human slaver is dead before Joaquin even finishes falling, shot to the head by a shaved, bruised clone, still in chains but now technically free.

Obi-Wan stares, as Joaquin lies there, hand on his stomach, already smeared with red. He thinks – nothing. Everything happens so fast and he's thinking _nothing at all_ –

And then one of the clone slaves goes to kick at Joaquin, and time crashes back into motion Obi-Wan sees _red_.

He's running. The clone slave turns the blaster on him – and then he's dangling in the air, writhing and twisting. Twist of Obi-Wan's wrist and he's stops, going completely limp. The other chained clones recoil at the end of the chain as the now dead clone falls – and then the nearest one of them is going for the fallen blaster and controller. Obi-Wan yanks them away, grabbing the blaster from air and shoving the controller into his pocket. Then he's at Joaquin's side.

The shocked hush that falls over the enslaved clones when he rips the gas mask from Joaquin's face is sharp and telling.

"Joaquin," Obi-Wan says, helpless. If this was the Clone Wars he could call for a medic, there'd be bacta here within seconds – worse case scenario Joaquin would be stabilized and send off to a hospital ship... but it isn't the Clone Wars, and they have no medical, no medical supplies, they don't even have bacta. Definitely nothing to treat stomach wounds with.

"S-sir," Joaquin gasps and struggles to lift up his head. Obi-Wan gets a hand under his neck to help him and he looks at his own hand, covered in blood. "Shit," he says and his head falls back.

"I'm sorry," Obi-Wan says, pressing his own hand over Joaquin's bloodied ones, to try and stem the blood – but... Joaquin wasn't wearing armour, nothing beyond some synthwool and the body glove, both of which were so much paper when it came to plasma bolts. The shot would've ran right through him.

"Y-yeah," Joaquin says and frowns a little – not at him but at the clones behind Obi-Wan, staring at them in open horror. "You – you killed him? He – didn't know. The mask – he just thought I was – another slaver – "

Obi-Wan doesn't say anything to that, just shakes his head.

Joaquin closes his eyes and winces. "Hey – I was thinking. D-didn't figure out how to ask, it's a bit – bit presumptuous of me – but," he licks at his lip, smearing red over it. "I-I thought of what I'd like to call you, sir. Grandfather," he says and the hand under Obi-Wan's goes limb. "I-I mean, I'm older and not – not that but d-do you think that'd be – be okay? If – if I called you Grandfather...?"

Obi-Wan's vision blurs. "I would be honoured," he whispers.

Joaquin looks up at him and smiles all too brightly for someone about to die.

Obi-Wan stares at his face for a long moment. He'd still not quite accepted clones as innocent of guilt when it came to the fall of the Republic and the death of the Jedi, but – this one had been one of his. Obi-Wan had accepted this one as one of his.

And now he's dead.

"We-we didn't know, we didn't realise," one of the clone slaves says as Obi-Wan rises to his feet. "The mask – we didn't know he was a brother, we just thought he was another one of those bastards, we didn't –"

"Silence," Obi-Wan says, his voice shaking, and turns.

Behind them, there is another scuffle going on, as the disarmed stormtroopers fight – clumsily – against the local lowlifes. One of them has been knifed already, the vibroblade still sticking out from between the plates at his shoulder, but under the control of the activated chips, it doesn't seem to bother him much.

Obi-Wan is so mad it seems to make the very earth shake around him, and there's no one here to direct his anger to. The stormtroopers who aren't in control of their actions, the slaves who have been abandoned and abused Force alone knows for how long – the local thugs with their guns, who are just defending themselves from this idiotic, suicidal assault...

Obi-Wan wants to destroy something. He wants to see something burn and wither and scream in _pain_ – and there is nothing here to target this shivering, trembling anger on. Nothing but... slaves.

And slavers.

Letting out a snarl, Obi-Wan reaches for the enslaved clones and lashes out with a Force. They recoil from him in horror and leave behind a clatter of metal as the chains they were bound in bend and break, falling from their bruised wrists and bleeding ankles. Then, while they try and comprehend this new change, Obi-Wan marches forward, and reaches for the scuffle taking place in the square.

Well, there is _some_ satisfaction to be had in seeing people fall to their knees in clatter of plastoid and with yelps of dismay.

"A Jedi!" someone shouts. "It's a Jedi!"

"Must kill the Jedi," One of the stormtroopers gasps

"Shut up," Obi-Wan growls and waves his hand at the thugs. Their eyes roll to the back of their heads and they collapse to the ground as he turns to the stormtroopers, to take off their helmets.

The grasp he takes of their short hair is perhaps too tight, but he's shaking with anger and this eases the burn of it much, to feel the twinge of pain. Then he glares down on the chips in their head and takes little pleasure in targeting them in Force and destroying them one by one.

Obi-Wan turns, leaving the freed stormtroopers to the ground and to their new free will. The slave clones are still there, watching him warily from the side – one of them has kneeled by Joaquin and is closing his eyes and for a moment Obi-Wan almost reaches out to strangle him for it – but he has no ill will.

"Well – well I'll be damned!" A voice speaks and Obi-Wan whirls to see the twilek announcer, clambering back to the stage. "We're saved by a Jedi! Look everyone, a Jedi –"

Obi-Wan reaches out, and the twilek is pulled off his feet and into the air, to dangle there by the invisible force strangling him.

"Oh, you wish I was a Jedi," Obi-Wan growls, and snaps his neck. Like the clone before, the twilek slaver goes limb, dangling loose limped and lifeless in air until Obi-Wan throws him away, useless.

It's not enough, though, not nearly enough. There's a burn in Obi-Wan's gut and he wants to tear this whole place to the ground now. He's had enough of slaves and slavery and force damned _slavers_ and he wants to burn them all in the fires of his hatred.

"I want every slaver here," he says in voice that doesn't even sound like his, and it echoes eerily in the square, enforced not by speakers or mechanics – but by the very Force itself. "And I want them _dead_."

The slave clones look at him, and their faces _shine_. "Yes, Grandfather," they say with glee of people who have long dreamed of revenge, and who are now about to get it. "As you wish."

* * *

 

It takes long while for Obi-Wan to wrangle his emotions back into some semblance of stability. Though he's let the Dark Side trickle in before, this – this was like a flood and the dark energy of his own anger and hatred pools within him, undeniable and inescapable. Reaching any sort of equilibrium is hard won victory at the face of it's raging might.

He'd known, in his heart of hearts, that it was only inevitable. The moment he'd decided on that damned course of action, ever since he'd come to his new truths about the Force and what it took to balance it, ever since he'd given up his own Light in order to protect the Twins... it had been only matter of time before the delicate balance he struck would be disturbed and he'd fall further than he meant to.

He just had been hoping it would happen with fewer deaths.

Someone's brought Joaquin to him, and Obi-Wan is staring at the clone's face, still smiling even in death. The stormtroopers are bound up but mostly alive at his side, more confused than anything. The enslaved clones – slaves for not much longer if Obi-Wan has anything to say abut it – have taken their weapons and portions of their armour, and they've made a _gleeful_ work of the settlement.

There's a small mound of corpses in front of Obi-Wan. Slavers and their bodyguards who have been ran through by the vengeful clone slaves without hint of remorse. And the tactics of free willed clones versus the chipped ones is telling – there have been two clone casualties, so far, from what Obi-Wan can tell.

Inside half an hour, the now eleven clone slaves have brought a terrible, terrified order into the Tatooine settlement, to the point where the locals were now abandoning the slavers willingly, all but throwing them at the clones in order to be left alone – left alive.

Obi-Wan isn't sure how long it's been going on, this... mockery of a battle. He knows there are more people dead than the dead slavers in front of him. Some of those people are innocent.

He just doesn't _care_ anymore.

"I don't understand," one of the stormtroopers whispers. "I don't understand at all. What is going on?"

"Shush," another stormtrooper hisses at him.

Obi-Wan looks up at them, then up at two of the ragged, bruised, bloodied clone slaves who are standing his guard, both holding blasters and viciously satisfied expressions. He's not entirely sure what's going on either. This whole thing... has rather gotten out of control.

A little distance away from him there is a togruta girl, sitting cross legged in the sand amidst other slaves from the auction. Not quite freed, Obi-Wan muses, but their owners are dead. Their controllers have been given to Obi-Wan.

Slowly Obi-Wan rises from his kneeling position in front of Joaquin. In the other edge of the square, clones are marching in another slaver, prodding them along with the barrels of their stolen riffles.

"I think this might be the last of them, Grandfather," one of the clones say while the other kicks the slaver to the back of his legs, forcing him down on his knees.

A rodian, who babbles helplessly at them in language Obi-Wan doesn't understand. Many others had begged and plead for their lives too, before Obi-Wan had quenched his thirst for suffering on them. He can't even remember what they'd said, now, if he heard a word of it at all.

"Can anyone tell me what he's saying?" Obi-Wan asks, his voice flat and weary.

The clones exchange looks and shake their heads – it's one of the other slaves who speaks.

"He's saying he has a money, ships, weapons," a twilek woman says, standing up among the crowd of mostly-liberated slaves. "He's telling you that you can have it all, if you let him go."

Obi-Wan arches an eyebrow – most likely unseen under the hood of his cloak. "And where is all this wealth he's promising?"

The twilek speaks at the rodian, who brightens with relief and talks back for a while.

"He will let you know via comlink after you let him go," the woman says, sounding disgusted.

"Hm," Obi-Wan answers and reaches out. There is a murmur of gleeful satisfaction from the crowd of slaves as the rodian is wrenched up and to dangle in air. "I think he will let us know, now," Obi-Wan says and waves a hand over the rodian's face. "Ask him."

The twilek woman does, and relays the information to Obi-Wan. Apparently, he just has one cargo ship in a hanger in the city and no actual riches except the four slaves he'd been hoping to sell. Which gives Obi-Wan a rather nice idea.

Pity he hadn't been in his senses before, or he would've asked before.

He twists his wrist and the rodian falls to the ground, dead. "Can anyone tell me how many in this pile of filth," he motions at the dead slavers, "own ships."

"I think you mean, how many ships _you_ now own," one of the clone slaves murmurs, and is then jostled by another clone's elbow.

"Well. Yes," Obi-Wan agrees and looks around him. There are some locals watching them from behind barred windows and closed doors, peering at them through peepholes but keeping their distance. There is lot of ill will in the air, but no intent. And the slaves – they're mess of revenge and satisfaction and _fear_ so heavy it almost makes him choke.

"That one there, he has a cargo ship," one of the slaves points at one of the dead slaver.

"She has a freighter!"

"We came here on her ship, it's in the hangar here."

Obi-Wan listens as the slaves give away their owners possessions, nodding along while taking out the slave chip controller in his pocket – the one controlling the clone slaves' chips. Apparently he doesn't need to sell Amidala's skiff after all, he muses eyes the controller.

He could order any number of these people to man those ships and bring them to him but... "I have no intention of owning slaves," he mutters and holds the controller up for everyone to see. "Someone tell me how to safely disable these."

There's a moment of silence, surprised and uneasy. It's one of the clones who steps forward. "You – need a code," he explains. "If you put in the wrong code – they will explode."

"And none of you know the code, I assume?" Obi-Wan asks wryly.

The clone shakes his head grimly and none of the other slaves pipes up either. Of course not. Who would tell a slave how to disable their chains. It just couldn't be simple for once, could it, Obi-Wan thinks and turns the controller in his hand. "Damn it," he says and runs a hand over his face.

Then he hands the controller over to the clones. "Here," he says.

The clones hesitate for a long moment and then one of them steps in to accept the controller. "Thank you, Grandfather," he whispers and backs away, to his brothers who look between the controller and Obi-Wan with shaking relief and desperation.

Obi-Wan swallows around the lump in his throat and takes one of the other controllers he'd been given during this... this raid. "Here," he says, holding it out to the other slaves.

It's a mirialan woman who rises to accept it, her hands shaking as she holds them out, her head bowed in near supplication. "Th-thank you – Grandfather," she stutters and accepts the controller.

The whole thing has a terrible ring of symbolism and _cultism_ which both unnerves Obi-Wan... and pleases that small, black centre of his core where the Dark Side has taken residence.

He holds out another controller and another slave rises to accept their freedom with bowed head and whisper of, "Thank you, Grandfather." Not all of them have individual controllers – some like the clones have a joined controller, which people rise in groups to accept. It goes on for a while until finally, all the controllers are given to those whom they control, and Obi-Wan stands amidst them, slaveless.

"I am no slave owner. Your lives are your own," Obi-Wan says, both uneasy and viscerally _satisfied_ by the respect he's being given. He turns away from the slaves, and looks at the bound up storm troopers. "Now, what about you?"

The stormtroopers say nothing, watching him warily.

"I've destroyed the chips in your heads," Obi-Wan explains. "The empire has no power to turn off your minds anymore. What happens now is your choice. What will you do now?"

"They have chips in their heads?" someone behind him whispers.

"Yeah – didn't you know? All the clones are chipped," another murmurs.

"Like slaves?"

"Yeah," a familiar voice, a clone's voice, says. "But worse."

The stormtroopers exchange looks. Whether they've come to terms with whatever they'd been forced to do under the chips has settled in yet or not, is hard to tell. Chances are they haven't had enough time to process. If they played part in Order 66... who knows.

"Who are you?" one of them asks warily. "A Jedi General?"

"A _Sith_?" another asks, sharp and uneasy as he casts a glance at the pile of corpses.

"Neither. I'm something far worse," Obi-Wan says and smiles darkly, glancing at the slaves – former slaves – around him. "I'm a Grandfather."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added a ship tag because it's going to happen eventually at 90% certainty and I might as well warn people ahead of time.
> 
> (Btw, I've been calling this story the "Murder Grandpa" fic since beginning. I don't even care that it's nonsense, I just love the mental image too much and I am happy it's reality now.)


	8. Chapter 8

Three freighters, a junker, two ships that might've been yachts some fifty years ago, an old banged up Republic starfighter of all things and, most surprisingly... a corvette. That, along with fifty slaves of various nature and everything their now dead owners might've been carrying, is Obi-Wan's gain from the whole ordeal. Plus one hell of a headache.

And quite bit of shame, slowly dawning in the tense minutes that follow. Not necessarily for the people he killed, definitely not for the people he saved, not even for the incident he caused, unbecoming of a Jedi though it is. But what he might've unintentionally started.

"Well, sir," Sige says, after landing Amidala's yacht in a hanger – which was not so much open as it was under the control of the forces Obi-Wan has found himself in charge off. "This is something."

"Yes," Obi-Wan agrees with a sigh. "It certainly is, isn't it?"

They both look down at Joaquin – now lying on a gurney and covered by a tarp one of the _former_ slaves had found. None of the others who died – and there had been many of them – had gotten quite such an honour, though the dead slaves and dead stormtroopers have been laid out in a line beside him. Obi-Wan wasn't about to argue against it, though.

Joaquin deserved better.

His face drawn tight and solemn, Sige bows his head a little. "Gar ash'amur mav, vod," he murmurs to his fallen brother. "Ganar suum ca'nara."

Obi-Wan has witnessed countless of similar scenes – clones finding their closer brothers dead. He's been invited to more clone "funerals" than he'd like to count, too. The last part of what Sige says is familiar – _rest in peace_ in mando'a or something close to it. The first part, though, is new.

He knows better than to ask, however.

"I don't suppose you could give me a sitrep, sir?" Sige asks, turning away from Joaquin while pushing his hood back and revealing his scarred scalp.

"For all that it's been less than an hour... it is something of a long story," Obi-Wan chuckles wearily and looks around them. "There was a slave auction in process when we entered the settlement – and in it we spotted these gentlemen among the... merchandise." He motions to the slave clones.

The one who accepted the slave chip controller from Obi-Wan steps closer. "Bellows, sir," he says to Sige and gives a somewhat rusty salute. "CT-8824, if that even means anything anymore. I was a captain, before... before. The rest are troopers."

That explains why it seems like he's in charge, then, Obi-Wan muses.

"Captain. You'd outrank me, then. Judging by that," Sige motions at the patch on Bellows' shoulder – the republic logo, "you're pre-empire too."

All the slave clones are wearing older body gloves, with Republic symbols and designs.

"Well," Bellows says grimly. "At this point it's hell of a thing to be proud of – to be enslaved ahead of everyone else."

"How did you end up here?" Obi-Wan asks quietly.

Bellows jaw flexes and he shakes his head. "We're battlefield fallen," he says and looks at his companions. "Aside from Iso, but he's as good as the same."

"Battlefield fallen?"

"We got gunned down on the field and left behind while we were knocked out," Bellows explains. "And then after everyone else had retreated, the fucking scavengers came to pick apart our corpses. The dead ones were stripped of armour and weaponry. The living..." he shrugs. "We're lucky that the Kaminoans fucked around with our genes so much – the civvie volunteers just got dismembered when they're found half dead. Body parts and organs sell better than slaves, you see, but no one wants a clone's organs. They go sour, or something."

Obi-Wan stares at him silently for a moment, trying to fit the image he's painting into his world view – into his old world view. Had this been happening all throughout the war? In all the battlefields they never had the time to check, all the times they'd been forced to retreat?

"Do you know how many..." he starts to ask and then trails away, helpless

"Many," Bellows says without remorse and shrugs. "More before Empire, though. After that the brain chips came into play and lot of us just lost it. Clone slaves haven't been exactly popular since – and removing the chips is too much effort."

"... I see," Obi-Wan murmurs, his eyes narrowed.

Sige eyes Bellows seriously for a moment and then nods. "What about those ones?" he asks, motioning to the clones in stormtrooper armour.

"I broke their chips," Obi-Wan says. "But the circumstances were a little awkward. They haven't quite made their minds yet about... this," he motions around them, at the other slaves, at himself, at Sige. "Whatever this is."

"I think what this is is pretty clear," Sige says and runs a hand over his scalp. "A fine mess."

"A start of a rebellion," Bellows comments, glancing at Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan sighs. "We'll see," he says tiredly and turns away as he feels someone approach.

It's the togruta girl, now thankfully dressed in a dark robe she'd found – or more likely stolen – from somewhere. She's holding a tray and on it cup of water and bowl of re-hydrated dry food. "Here, Grandfather," she says nervously. "I got this for you."

"Grandfather?" Sige asks, turning to Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan smiles a little. "Joaquin did me the kindness of naming me before passing," he says quietly. "I rather like it."

"Hmm," Sige hums and looks at the togruta, who looks between them uncertainly.

"Girl, come away from there, stop bothering Grandfather," another former slave, the mirialan woman, hisses at the girl. "He's working on important things."

"No, please – it's alright. Thank you," Obi-Wan says, waving at the mirialan to stand down. The togruta girl's expression brightens and she holds the tray out to him. Obi-Wan accepts it with a smile. "Thank you, my dear – what's your name?"

The girl jerks with surprise, her shoulders coming up defensively. "Sashka," she says. "It's my real name, from before."

Ah, Obi-Wan thinks. Not a born slave then. "It's very good to meet you, Sashka," he says and accepts the tray from her. "Have you eaten and had water?"

The enslaved clones had, after finding some food stores from who knows where, raided them – there are now ration bags and water bottles being shared around among the slaves. Some of them look a little like they're hoarding them away, stuffing ration packets into their tunics when they think no one is looking. No one says anything about it though – it looks like everyone understands.

"I am about to, but I wanted to bring you some," Sashka says and fiddles with the edge of the cloak. "Is it true that you can destroy chips with your mind?"

"It's a little more complicated than that, but in essence... yes," Obi-Wan agrees and sets the tray down to a fordable table someone had brought for him.

"Can you break mine?" the girl asks and then takes out her chip controller. "I don't like it and I don't like this thing. I want it gone, I want them both gone."

Obi-Wan hesitates and then looks at Sashka seriously. "There are two types of chips, my dear," he says. "Ones with explosives and ones without. The clones have the latter kind, and that's why I can risk to break them, I know it won't kill them. But if I break the ones with explosives... they might trigger. It's not something I can risk."

The girl looks up at him with disappointed, let down expression and with a sigh Obi-Wan crouches and takes her hands. "With hope, we can remove them the old-fashioned way," he says seriously, squeezing her fingers gently. "With surgery. Do you think you can endure it until we get the chance?"

Sashka pouts and then puts on a strong expression. "I will," she says and something dark and terrible and _hurt_ flickers in her eyes. "I can deal with worse than just waiting."

Obi-Wan smiles at her, as if she isn't breaking his heart. "Good," he says, his voice wavering a little and after another squeeze releases her hands. "Go, go get some food. Eat until you _burst_."

She giggles a little. "I will," she says. "Thank you, Grandfather!"

She heads away at half jog and Obi-Wan stares after her for a moment before straightening up. "I killed that twilek slaver bastard all too quickly," he mutters.

"Yeah," Bellows agrees just as darkly. "But anything short of few years would've been too quick for his kind. At least she's free now."

Obi-Wan nods and then turns to Sige. "Do you think you could go have a chat with those fellows?" he asks, nodding to the former stormtroopers. "I – didn't make the best impression. I have eight ships we need pilots for; it would be nice to know if they can contribute."

"I'll see what I can get out of them – in the mean while," Sige says, motioning at the food Sashka had brought. "What you need to do right now is _eat_ , Grandfather."

Obi-Wan blinks after him as Sige heads over to talk to the former stormtroopers. It didn't sound quite like _Grandfather_ when Sige said it, he muses and then turns to the food. He's now on that side of starvation where he doesn't even feel hungry anymore but – Sige is right. He needs to eat.

Bellows watches him for a moment, frowning a little, his hands opening and clenching shut at his side. "You can speak freely," Obi-Wan says, glancing at his hands. "No point standing on ceremony now. What do you have in mind?"

"I –" Bellows starts and then looks away. Despite Obi-Wan's words, he stands in half-attention, and stares at mid distance. "I hated the Jedi after we got picked up. We were so convinced they'd come back and rescue us, but of course they didn't. We were just expendable cannon fodder for them. Fuck, I hated them. I swore that if I ever met a Jedi again and could do anything about it... I'd kill them."

Obi-Wan looks at him expressionlessly.

"I kept wondering, why the fuck were the _Jedi_ in charge of the Grand Army?" Bellows asks, his eyes flicking to him and then away. "Jedi are not military people and the fuck up at Geonosis is proof they had fuck-all experience about leading troops. Why were we put under _you_?"

Obi-Wan lowers his eyes, and doesn't answer. He doesn't have answer to that one – just a lot and lot of bitterness... and excuses.

Bellows shakes his head. "I'm glad you're not a Jedi," he says severely and nods. "Grandfather," he then says, with lazy half-salute, and heads off to join his formerly enslaved fellows.

Obi-Wan is still for a moment, saying or thinking nothing.

Then he starts to eat.

* * *

 

The logistics of managing a camp of freed slaves and borderline antagonistic clones is a headache the likes of which Obi-Wan hasn't had since the War and which he hasn't particularly missed. Even with the formerly enslaved clones more or less on his side, and the former stormtroopers slowly easing into the realization of their former slavery and current freedom, the whole thing is, as Sige said... a mess. The only upside is that they do indeed have enough pilots for all the ships that Obi-Wan now, more or less, owns.

And judging by the feeling Obi-Wan gets from the settlement around them, where the locals are starting to feel twitchy and infuriated by strange half-occupation of the clones in their settlement, the sooner they get away from the place, the better.

"Well, that's something everyone here can agree on, anyway," Sige says. "No one wants to stay here."

"What of the stormtroopers?" Obi-Wan asks.

Sige is quiet for a moment and then sighs, running a hand over his chin. "They're not the most forth coming, but from what I can tell... They were at Jedi ArgiCorp station when the order came. And it wasn't pretty."

Obi-Wan looks at him for a moment, searching his face, and then looks away. Jedi Agriculturists, huh? They probably didn't even have lightsabers – it would've been a massacre. "Are they a suicide risk?"

"I don't know, sir," Sige admits and looks over to the stormtroopers, who huddle together, still lacking their weapons. "It hasn't settled in yet. Waking up the way they did, in the situation they did..."

"Not good, hm?"

"No, I think it helped," Sige says and scoffs. "They were put on a suicide mission to make a message and then you woke up them in middle of a slave revolt and some of those slaves were brothers. It… put things into a new perspective."

Sige looks at him. "From what I can tell this isn't unusual, sir. The Empire is sending out a lot of troops to Outer Rim, to do stuff like this. The official line they recited was something about clearing out potential insurrections – but it's a lot of terror attacks, lot of suicide missions."

Obi-Wan nods slowly, watching the stormtroopers. "The Empire's way of phasing out _problematic_ clones," he guesses.

"And make a message while doing it," Sige agrees darkly.

Obi-Wan nods and looks over the rest of the camp. Lot of the slaves have fallen asleep now – it is middle of the night in Tatooine and they've had a very exhausting evening. Above them, the moons of Tatooine glow with cold, distant light and the air is getting colder by the moment. It's probably not good for any of them, to sleep on the cooling ground.

Obi-Wan sighs. "Let's get off this rock," he says and stands up. "I want to go back to the children."

"Sir, there's another thing," Sige says uncertainly.

"Yes?"

"There are... a lot of slaves on Tatooine," Sige says. "And most here seem to think you're going to free all of them."

"Hmm," Obi-Wan answers and looks at the mound of dead slavers. Now that the red fury has passed and all he's left with is its ashes, he just feels tired about the whole thing. He doesn't regret it, but the idea of doing more of it... is exhausting.

"And if you ask me, sir, _Grandfather_ ," Sige says, leaning in and speaking under his breath so that no one else can hear. "You should."

"Excuse me?" Obi-Wan says, frowning slightly at him.

"These people are nervous and roused and anxious – and the only thing they have in common is _you freeing slaves_ ," Sige says pointedly. "And lot of here are brothers, sir. Most of them not so well off, either. "

He trails off, glancing between the formerly enslaved clones and the stormtroopers. Obi-Wan follows his gaze darkly. Slaves on the brink of freedom, all of them, with wealth of horrors behind them. Probably only thing keeping them at all upright is the fact that... that Obi-Wan had given them some semblance of a mission with his little slave revolt.

Obi-Wan sighs and runs a hand over his face. If he'd learned anything about clones during the war is that leaving clones idle, especially after a mission gone badly, is never a good idea. As much as it goes against all of his understanding about human psychology, for clones being thrown right back into action is healthier, than leaving them stew on past events. That was how they'd been designed.

He can see what Sige means. Embarking on a slave-freeing crusade would give this whole group something to rally behind, clones and other slaves included. A unifying quest they all could believe. Especially so of there really are as many clone slaves as Bellows had insinuated.

It's... dirty, somehow, and it goes against everything Qui-Gon Jinn and the Jedi Order had tried to instil in him after that mess of Melida/Daan. But at the same time...

What was he going to otherwise? His plans of taking the twins and hiding in some remote Outer Rim planet while waiting them to grow up are all shot to hell now. He can't forsake these people. And as ironic as it is... he thinks he might do better with a quest to follow too.

And there are definitely worse things to fight for, than freeing slaves.

"In that case, we need to prepare," Obi-Wan says finally. "This is going to be a difficult campaign. For now, though, I think we've outstayed our welcome here. Time to get our boots off dirt."

Sige looks at him and then salutes, his eyes shining. "Sir," he says, and then gets to work, corralling everyone into ships. Obi-Wan looks after him, as he and soon after Bellows start organizing a retreat.

For a moment Obi-Wan finds himself wishing he had Cody at his side again, with his strategic mind and wealth of insights. The man had shot him in the back, maybe, but that didn't make him any less of a stellar military commander. With him, planning a planet wide slave revolt would've been no trouble at all.

* * *

 

Slowly, they set off, ship by ship taking to the sky and then to space. Obi-Wan flies, alone with only Joaquin's body to keep him company in Amidala's star skiff while Sige takes command of the corvette, the biggest ship they have. The others come in between, piloted by a mingled group of clones and former slaves.

Turning the group into some semblance of a military force is going to be a nightmare – one he's more than happy to leave to Sige and the other clones for now. There is now thirty two clones in various stage of trauma in his... whatever it is, a group, a cult, a rebellion, and all in all they are much better suited to wrangling each other than Obi-Wan is, at this point.

For now, all he wants to do is see the twins and try and come to terms with all the people he killed – and the level of Force he used to do it.

While the ships organize themselves into a semblance of flotilla around the cargo tug, Obi-Wan pilots the skiff in and then dons a space suit on for long enough to get from the skiff to the tug.

"Looks like you've had some interesting time of it," Hearth comments when he gets through the airlock.

"Things don't tend to go as I plan these days," Obi-Wan agrees with a sigh and looks at the clones. "I trust Sige kept you updated?"

"He did," Marks nods and then bows his head. "Joaquin..."

"I am sorry," Obi-Wan says quietly. "I wish I'd had more time to get to know him – he seemed like a good man."

"Yes, sir. Or, I hear it's Grandfather, now," Marks says with a fleeting, awkward smile.

Obi-Wan smiles back awkwardly and then shakes his head. "Joaquin is in the skiff," he says, motioning back to the airlock. "I wasn't sure what burial you wish to give him, so..."

"We'll handle it, sir – Grandfather," Gap says and offers a brief, painful smile. "Go see the kids. From all the wailing, I'd say they've missed you."

Obi-Wan nods, hesitating for a moment. "I would like to be there, if that is alright," he says then. "When you let Joaquin go."

The clones exchange looks and then nod. "We'd be honoured, sir. Now go see your kids and get some sleep."

Obi-Wan goes.

* * *

 

For all that Obi-Wan's been a military commander, a General and then a High General of the biggest army ever built, he's never much enjoyed war. Even with all the propaganda, all the empty platitudes about _protecting the Republic_ , it had always seemed like such a grim, unpleasant thing.

Though he'd always stood resolute in siding with the Republic, with the Democracy it represented, there'd always been that nagging knowledge that the Republic was far from perfect. It's was a slow bureaucratic monstrosity of a government, flooded with bias and personal interests and none of it had ever seemed wholly _good_. There were always hint of darker, greedier agendas behind the scenes... people seeking benefits beyond the Just and Right Causes, whatever those were.

With the rise of the Empire, he knew what those agendas were, now. Which only made the great war they'd fought, the Clone Wars, seem all the more hollow. When you knew both sides of the war were under the same supreme commander... had the war even existed at all?

The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like he'd only ever played at being a commander. An unknowing actor on a stage he'd thought was real, but was only made of plastoid film and flashing holograms. Fake, all of it. Him included.

This, though, this prospective campaign, this _cause_.

It is very real.

"Funny," Obi-Wan says to Leia while Luke chews on his sleeve and kicks at his elbow. "When Anakin and myself were just thrown together, he kept asking me... _When are we going back to free the slaves?_ Like it was given it was something we could do."

Leia is hugging his hand to her chest, looking up at him mutinously as she mouths at his knuckles – judging by her grip on him, she's both expecting him to try and escape and having no intention of letting go. It's adorable.

"As if it was something Jedi _would_ do," Obi-Wan murmurs. "We were at peace and still strong, still so... just and righteous. And we never even tried. Never mind freeing all the slaves of Tatooine, we didn't even go back for his _mother_. What does that say about us... what does that say about the Jedi?"

Even when they had armies to command, they hadn't tried. And eventually Anakin had stopped asking, stopped hoping – started looking at him darkly when ever the word mother was mentioned in any setting.

Obi-Wan had, back then, thought that he was on the right. The Jedi Order forbade it, told him to steer Anakin away from the thoughts of family and mothers, and teach him the right way, the Jedi way, of facing such issues. Young and stupid and both broken by Qui-Gon's death and made all too proud by his early promotion, Obi-Wan had done just that.

"Leave the thoughts of your mother in the past, where they belong," Obi-Wan mutters and scoffs at himself. No wonder Anakin's feelings concerning him had soured so easily – it was a fall years in the making, enforced by over a decade of increasing bitterness.

He'd really failed there, hadn't he?

"I won't fail now," Obi-Wan murmurs. "For the boy Anakin was, for the hope he had... For you two," he adds and wiggles his fingers under Leila's chin and on Luke's chest, making them both giggle. "I'm going to do this _right_."

There are lot of plans to make and he's so tired, so weary of past mistakes and potential future ones. He misses the clone commanders he used to work with desperately – not only Cody but Rex too, even if he had never really been one of Obi-Wan's. Rex would've had a blast planning a campaign like this, one where they in the moral right, no question about it.

But he'd have to manage without them, and make good of it. And hopefully do it all before the Empire would take note of them. The Slave Revolt of Tatooine would have to be quick and decisive.

"First things first," Obi-Wan says to Leia and Luke. "I think we're going to have to get us a Hutt."


End file.
